The past is what the future makes
by EleanorKate
Summary: Chummy receives a visitor that brings with her memories she thought she had left behind
1. Chapter 1

"Are you absolutely sure you don't mind?" she asked, brushing her hand down his back as she walked past him into the sitting room to take up her seat by the fire.

"Camilla, be quiet" he said, following her from the kitchen. He slipped his jumper over his head before leaning down to where she was seated on the settee, kissing her primarily to stop her asking him for the fourth time if he really minded her going up to Chelsea when they were meant to be having a rare Sunday afternoon together.

"You haven't seen", he paused, trying desperately to remember this woman's name, straightening the hem of the woollen garment. "Who was it?"

"Isobel" she replied

"In years" he carried on, sitting down next to her. "So go up there, have a lovely time, come back and tell me all about it. I will just go up to Mum for tea whilst my wife neglects me".

Before she could protest, even though she knew he was joking, he kissed her again.

"Go up there and enjoy yourself. There'll be plenty of other Sundays".

She smiled at him as he retreated to collect his coat, just this time wishing_ just once_ he would not be so understanding and _just once_ he'd said 'no' to her.


	2. Chapter 2

"Chummy?" Cynthia said as her friend passed her in the corridor, having received the bundle of post that had arrived a few moments earlier. "Letter for you".

She handed the rather bedraggled airmail envelope to her friend.

"Oh gosh!" Chummy replied. "That looks like it's been round the houses doesn't it?"

"I'd dare say it had travelled a few miles!" Cynthia replied, smiling, walking past her as Chummy examined the letter, addressed in script she did not recognise and littered with different stamps and post marks. Whoever had written it did not know of her change in circumstances, the letter being for 'Miss Camilla Browne' at St Thomas' Hospital Nurses Home, rather than Mrs Camilla Noakes and clearly having been passed from pillar to post these last few weeks in an effort to find its recipient.

"There you are Nurse Noakes!" she heard behind as the Scottish lilt of Sister Bernadette's voice drifted across the corridor. "Are you ready?"

"Yes, Sister" she replied, tucking the letter quickly away before she joined the Sister for the walk to the afternoon clinic, gently giving herself a mental reminder of the missive's location.

That evening, she sat at her dressing table, brushing her hair she suddenly realised the letter had been left in the pocket of her uniform; the uniform she had just haphazardly placed in the washing basket as, dressed only in her slip, she had to duck to speedily avoid the water that had been flicked at her by her husband as he shaved.

"Peter!" she said, knowing he was still in the bathroom not too far away. "Could you look in my uniform for a letter in the pocket? It's in the washing basket".

He appeared a moment later, uniform braces dangling with dots of shaving cream all over his chin. "This one?" he said, holding it in the air.

"Yes, that's it", she replied, taking it from him. "Thank you".

"It's not in a very fit state!" he remarked, sitting down on the bed behind her to tie his boot laces.

"It arrived at Nonnatus this morning for me". She regarded the envelope again wondering just how many miles it had travelled as she could see 'London', 'Somerset' and 'Madeira' post marks now as well as some other place that was illegible.

She put the letter down on the dressing table ready to read in bed, becoming anxiously curious again as to its origins.

"Are you sure you don't want something eat before your shift starts?" she asked, dabbing face cream onto her cheeks regarding him through the mirror.

"No", he replied, tying his boot lace firmly, dusting off specks from the leather. "I'll get something in the canteen later on".

"I do hope you are not going out like that though" she asked as he looked up.

"Like what?" he asked. She turned on her seat.

"Here" she said, swiping her thumb cross his chin, taking with it the clumps of shaving foam.

"Thank you" her replied, leaning forward to kiss her, lingering until she broke away.

"You need to go to work", she said turning herself back towards the mirror.

"I know", he replied, bringing his braces over his shoulders. "I should be back about 6 or so".

"Well I have the joys of the medication collection from the London first thing, so don't worry if you wake me up", she replied, rubbing the last of the cream into her hands.

He nodded and she saw him take his tunic from the bed. Carefully, she took one last look in the mirror before taking up the letter and retiring to bed.


	3. Chapter 3

She lay in bed that night, desperate for sleep to take her. She always worried when Peter was on night shift, most of the time entirely unnecessarily, but she had been so unsettled these past few hours that it only compounded fears that something appalling was happening to him. She hated this with a passion beyond desperation; knowing how her mind could think these terrible thoughts and she had little to no control over the inner workings of her psyche. How she wished, just this once that a simple piece of paper would not cause her such anxiety; that she could sleep peacefully and just tell him joyfully of the news it bore.

She slept intermittently; a study of the clock as it ticked its way slowly and for her, painfully, towards 6 o'clock. She was so pleased when it came around and she heard a key in the lock. As she heard feet into the bathroom and a tap run she stared at the ceiling noticing that crack in the paint that, somehow for its mere presence it annoyed her more than she cared to mention. She closed her eyes and felt the bed dip beside her.

"Peter?"

He turned, just about to undo the collar of his uniform shirt.

"I didn't wake you up did I?" He always managed to make himself feel guilty if he woke her up knowing what ridiculous hours she could keep from time to time. At least he had shifts and knew when each one started and ended although never once did she complain.

"No", she paused, feeling entirely normal even natural now to follow it up, rather than pretend that all in the world was well. "I couldn't sleep properly".

He turned towards her so he was sitting across the bed

"Why?" he said, his voice laced with concern, seeing the open envelope on her bedside table and the letter, screwed tight into a ball having fallen to the floor. It took no more than a few seconds to tie the existence of the crumpled mass and his wife's frown together. It was too dark to determine whether she had been crying.

"Who was that letter from?" he asked, undoing his shirt, his voice having that low level of anger that she knew from time to time he displayed.

"One of the gels from school. Isobel. She's back in London for the rest of the year and wants to meet for tea".

"Well, that's not so bad surely?" he asked, ever so slightly relieved as he was expecting perhaps more serious news. There were a few people he went to school with that he would love to hear from, but he could see the worry etched on her face.

"Peter, its been nearly 15 years since I saw her".

"No wonder that letter went everywhere. Why are you so worried about her?" he questioned, clearly thinking that whoever this person was obviously wanted to find his wife after writing after all this time.

"It's not her. Particularly. Really" she replied, "Belle was probably one of the few true friends I ever had. I was heartbroken when her parents took her out of school to go back to Buenos Aires, but it's going back there; to that time. It just makes me...It's a time I thought I would never have to see again".

She heard a drawer shut in the darkness and felt him slide down into bed behind her. She sighed loudly, breathing through her nose feeling a kiss to her shoulder.

"She was your friend, right?" he said, as she felt him settle, an arm slipping over her stomach.

"Yes" she replied, still staring at that blessed crack the ceiling.

"She's sought you out to find you after all these years?"

"Yes".

"Then go and have tea with her and see what she wants" he paused. "It may help you".

"How?" she replied, not able to see his logic.

"To trying starting to close off all those things that make that beautiful face of yours sad".

She swallowed, stopping what would be tears and he saw her nod her head.

"We are going to have such a wonderful future but you need to put the past in the past". He knew how much weight she carried with her, odd things she would mention in passing which gave him an insight into what had been her world. Things she would pass off with a shake of the head or dismissing wave of her hand if he tried to probe further. Her past interested him; made her who she was and it always saddened him just that bit that she had to hold onto so much inside her all these years.

No fool would think that they had very much in common at all on first glance - the son of a dock worker too ill to be employed and, well, a Lady who should never have set foot in the slums of Poplar or married the local copper. Someone of such blood that she should never think these places and people existed and certainly not live amongst them. Or certainly, that would be what her mother would say.

"Did you have a busy night?" she asked suddenly, one of these rapid changes of subject that he knew could happen with his wife at any given time.

"So so. Too many drunks, a few fights. Nothing out of the ordinary", he replied tightening his grip on her, drawing warmth from her and feeling his eyes close as each second passed.

A while later he vaguely felt her lift his arm and slide out from their bed to her first task of the day.

When he woke several hours later, his stomach rumbing for a very late breakfast, the envelope and the letter was gone.


	4. Chapter 4

"Chummy?"

"Chummy?"

"CHUMMY?!"

The last loud exclamation of her name broke her out of her daydream.

"Chummy? Are you at home?" Trixie said, tapping her friend's temple with affection finding her in the treatment room, slowly and thoughtfully putting together delivery packs, hands holding two packs of swabs in mid air as her mind temporarily departed its post.

"Sorry, old thing" she replied hastily, putting each pack in its place. "Million miles away for a moment there".

"Are you alright?" Trixie asked, carefully folding down the lid of a pack that she could see was complete.

"Yes, never been better. Sorry", she replied abruptly, touching away a strand of hair that had fallen over her forehead, before opening up another box ready to fill.

"Are you staying for tea tonight?" Trixie asked. "Its been an age since we were all together".

"I've only been living away for 6 weeks!" she remarked. "But yes I am. Sister Julienne asked me if I would help clear out that back room in the cellar this evening as Peter is still on nights".

Trixie laughed, turning to pick up a bottle of Chloral Hydrate; her real purpose for being in the treatment room. "Good luck with that. It's revolting down there!"

Chummy smiled innocently. "You do release that Sister Evangelina has volunteered you too?", she replied, not catching her friends eye as she nonchalantly folded another lid.

"What?!" her friend exclaimed, turning around with horror rising at the prospect of that basement room. She had only had the pleasure once or twice since her arrival at Nonnatus some years ago and it was an experience she would do very much to avoid.

"Sorry old thing – I wasn't exactly jumping through the old hoops about it either".

"But its disgusting down there. All that dust and..."

"Rats?" Chummy offered. "Those rats that will be scurrying around your ankles you mean?!"

"Chummy stop it. It's not funny".

Chummy continued to smile, but this time in solidarity, as Trixie walked away as she heard Sister Evangelina's grumblings that Nurse Franklin had disappeared.

A few hours later, Sister Julienne handed the key to the trap door to the cellar to Chummy.

"I do appreciate you assisting me Nurse Noakes" she said, the two walking together from the Sister's office. "I do realise it is not the most inviting atmosphere down there".

"Never mind Sister. One is certain a little bit of dust will cause no harm".

"Very well, there are torches in the cupboard underneath the stairs", Sister Julienne offered as she walked away.

As she walked towards the trap door to the cellar, dressed in the darkest, oldest pair of trousers she had and an old shirt of Peter's that she had 'borrowed' this morning that had not seen the light of day for years, she saw Trixie head towards her from the opposite direction, dressed in pedal pushers, a shirt and a blue scarf tied into her hair.

"There is really no way of avoiding this, is there?" Trixie said, her face a picture of misery as Chummy shook her head.

"The quicker we get on, the quicker we can finish!" she said to her unconvinced friend who stood by her side.

Kneeling on the floor, Chummy seemed to be in in one of her gung-ho moods and took the key to the lock, drawing back the trap.

"Oh well, down the hatch as they say!"

The smell in the room knocked them both for six as immediately both girls hands flew to their noses. "Dead rat!" Trixie remarked.

"More than one I'd say!" Chummy replied, squinting into the darkness with the almost useless help of one of the torches she had taken from the cupboard. They breathed heavily, slowly becoming accustomed to the odd smell of death and damp trying to avoid tripping over the gamut of objects and boxes scattered in their path.

"Oh my!" Chummy said, pulling a gas mask from one of the boxes. "There must be 10, 15 of these in here", she continued, casting the torch light over the content.

"I remember being evacuated with one of these, in that wretched little box, drilled into me never to let it leave my side" Trixie replied, arriving to her right, drawing her finger over the layer of dust.

"We used to have gas mask drill on the lawn at school. I can still smell the horrible rubber, boiling underneath them in the sun. We used to be terrified wondering if we would survive if the gas came even though it never did" Chummy said, examining the mask as she held it in her hand. "We will need to give them to Sister. Hopefully one day all these will be museum pieces".

"Did your mother never take you back to India?" Trixie asked curiously as she lifted another box to check its contents. "Surely you would have been safer there than in Brighton!"

"No" she said firmly, "One imagines it never crossed her mind. We were all too old for an Ayah and Bob and Will were already out fighting in France by the time I was 14. Mater with several teenagers in the house was the most horrific accident waiting to happen!"

The air fell silent, both of them remembering the days when, in different ways, they were uprooted from their parents. Trixie for her safety from the falling bombs in London and Chummy for, well, just_ being_.

Chummy heard shattered glass move as Trixie held up a cracked rectal tube. "So that's where all of those go to die" she laughed, lightening the mood.

Above their heads, however, they suddenly heard Sister Evangelina's voice.

"Nurse Noakes! You have a visitor".

Chummy heard the words "I am giving you 5 minutes" as she walked across the cellar floor, brushing the feel of dust from her hands. Climbing the ladder she saw a pair of black shoes and a pair of trousers she had ironed just yesterday.

As she emerged from the floor she noted he was looking away down the corridor at the retreating form of Sister Evangelina. He turned back immediately seeing the dust smudge on her cheekbone and one or two shattered spiders webs adorning her arm.

He passed her his handkerchief before proceeding to dust off the cobwebs from her arm.

"Enjoying yourself down there?" he asked with a smile.

Chummy went pink even though she knew full well that the question had absolutely no connotation on it at all. "I can provide you with several gas masks, a dead rat, numerous cracked glass rectal tubes and a hosepipe".

"I think I will let you keep them", he replied, putting his handkerchief back in his trouser pocket. "I was just on my way up to the Station and just headed in to see how everyone was".

"We are all fine". He saw her eyes drop to the hatch in the floor.

"Is there someone else down there?" he mouthed.

"Trixie" she mouthed back at him.

With that she felt his hand on her elbow to guide her away closer to the wall.

"Are you feeling better than this morning?"

She smiled at him. "A little bit".

"Sure?"

"Yes".

"Good" he replied, holding her chin as he pulled her in to kiss him and lingered to only just this side of public decency; the only other way he knew how to tell her she had his full support without using words not entirely convinced she was 'alright' at all. She didn't want to touch him as her hands were filthy so she rooted them to her side. He'd pretended his visit was 'just in passing' and she knew full well why he was standing in the corridors of Nonnatus, on the long way round to the Police Station.

From the height of their ankles, though, they both heard a throat being cleared.

"I wouldn't contemplate interrupting in normal circumstances, Chummy, but there are _rats_!" Both of them looked down to see Trixie, her too with dust smuts on her face.

"Sorry", Chummy replied, looking sheepishly at her husband.

"I should hope so leaving me to the fauna down here! Hello Peter!" Trixie withdrew back down into the cellar as he greeted her back.

"I had better…" Chummy said gesturing at the floor. He nodded at her before she felt his hand on her arm and the half kiss half breath on her cheek that led to a shiver shooting down her spine.

"CHUMMY!" she heard from underneath her feet as she watched him walk away.

Descending the ladder again she readjusted her eyes to the semi-darkness, turning to find Trixie blocking her path.

"What?" she asked, as Trixie shined the torch directly in her face.

"Is there something up?"

"No need for the old interrogation tricks as I have no idea what you mean Trixie Franklin", she replied, walking past her into the darkness.

Thankfully under the cover of the cellar and the dust she was creating as she lifted another box, Chummy was pleased that Trixie could not see the reddening that she could feel creeping over her chest at being caught kissing him like that, even though she was married.

"If there's gossip I need to know it! We're your friends and friends share things" she replied, following her into the bowels of the room.

"Its nothing really".

"So there is something", Trixie deduced. "I saw that kiss. That was not 'nothing'. I've never seen him that affectionate with you in public, not even when.."

"When?" Chummy jumped in, feeling increasingly more uncomfortable in this confined space.

"Cynthia's birthday dance".

Chummy frowned for a second and then remembered. Oh yes, she thought, the overly-attentive-would-not-budge-from-her-side fiancee as they celebrated and the teasing she received when they returned to Nonnatus; the girls seeing a shift in the relationship that went far beyond setting a wedding date and the fact that she felt so alive, she may as well had have been wearing a sign around her neck at every breach of every promise she had made to God in her life wiped out by finding herself in his bed.

"Trixie, Chummy are you down there?!"

Chummy breathed a sigh of relief at Jenny's perfect timing.

"Yes we are!" Chummy replied.

"Do you want some help? " she said, making her way down the ladder.

"That would be tip top" Chummy replied, seeing Trixie's face crumble slightly in the glare of the torch as she bent down to pick up another box.

"I need reinforcements Jenny Lee and you are them", Trixie announced.

"Why?" she asked.

"Somethings up. I think we might be_ expecting_ a new member of Nonnatus".

Both girls eyes widened as they stood next to each other, arms folded across their chests at Chummy who knew now that she had heard the entirety of their conversation.

"No, I can say we are not," she replied, hurriedly lifting an old medical bag from a shelf, the prospect of a child being one of those positively terrifying things on her post-wedding list. "Or at least one doesn't think so."

"So what is then?" Trixie asked, her voice having softened, thinking perhaps it may be something serious after all. Jenny herself was reluctant to become involved. If there was something to say or celebrate for that, she was sure that Chummy would share it eventually; very much like herself.

"Nothing important", Chummy replied, trying to catch Jenny's eye in an effort to seek a change in subject.

"Well something put that look on your face and you were miles away this at lunchtime in the kitchen", Trixie said, rubbing her hand over her friends arm, the mood having shifted. "If its something we can help with..."

Chummy caught Jenny's eye. "You must be imagining things, Trixie. I am sure Chummy is just fine" Jenny replied, picking up a box to start rummaging through it. "Now, where are we up to?"

Trixie gave up the ghost, seeing the brick wall build. There was something her friend was not sharing and good or bad, and she would get it out of her one way or another.


	5. Chapter 5

Chummy stared at the tea in her cup, toying with it wanting to go home, dreaming of sinking into the depths of the bath and scrubbing the day from her skin. The dust from the basement clung to her clothes; that itchy feeling still sitting in the back of her nose as the liquid tossed from side to side as the spoon twirled in an elaborate figure of eight.

Her body was craving comfort and the census' she, Jenny and Trixie had done of the basement coupled with the bare minimum of sleep she had had last night had just about tired her out completely.

"Are you alright after Trixie's moment there?" Jenny asked quietly, sitting on the opposite side of the kitchen table taking up one of the biscuits that even in her current melancholy mood could not tempt Chummy.

"Yes of course", Chummy replied, her head lifting quickly, not sounding entirely convinced even to herself. "No harm meant, one imagines" she continued, placing the spoon down gently on the saucer.

She saw Jenny smile sympathetically.

"You can tell us if it's Peter you know", Jenny said taking a small bite of her biscuit, knowing that perhaps she might not be able to truly assist if it was a problem within her marriage, but at least it may help her to talk.

"No" Chummy replied, defiantly shaking her head. "He is being jolly wonderful to me. That's a certainty".

"Good" Jenny replied. She was pleased Chummy was happy and she could see that being somebody's wife suited her friend, even only after a few weeks.

"So there is no little member of Nonnatus due then?" she continued cheekily, trying to catch Chummy's eye.

"No". This time however Chummy was able to smile, albeit involuntarily. She knew one day, in all likelihood, that might happen and her reaction to Jenny's question was perhaps her unconscious response.

"If its something else you know I will not say a word". She was not hankering after gossip and it was genuine attempt at helping.

"I know". Chummy knew Jenny could keep her counsel. Her husband's first proposal had not left the walls of the Chapel when she had tearfully confessed her troubles so she knew that whatever she might say now, it would be kept close to Jenny's heart. Chummy herself had heard some secrets that afternoon as well she she had sworn they would never pass her lips again and they had not, not even to her own husband.

"I had a letter from someone I knew at school. She wants to meet me".

"And?" Jenny replied, not she would admit quite understanding from that simple admission what was so horrific from hearing from an old school friend.

"That's what Peter said!" she replied, smiling slightly. "Oh I can barely explain it to myself let alone anyone else. There is so much of that time that I thought was under the old earth, gone. Its all those reminders of being invisible suddenly just flooded back the moment I saw her name".

"You weren't invisible to her", Jenny noted as Chummy nodded, seeing her point.

"I just wish that letter had never found me. I could have just carried on oblivious to its existence and let the past be past. I thought it was past", she concluded taking her first sip of tea that had been rapidly cooling.

"I know its not easy looking into the past or the past reappearing suddenly", she replied, putting the biscuit down, her appetite turned away.

"Gerald?" Chummy whispered.

Jenny nodded.

"Did you keep his letters?"

"No. I burnt them".

"I turned hers into a rather interesting crumpled ball", Chummy replied.

"But you didn't throw it out?"

"No", she paused. "One does suppose that is meant to mean something I dare say".

"So why are you worried?"

"She is then and here is now. They don't fit together", Chummy insisted, pushing her tea away.

"Did everything ever fit? Truly?" she asked.

Chummy thought for a second at the insightful question. No, she thought to herself, not until Poplar and even then it had its moments; still did have those occasions where she would have to stop and think. The jigsaw that had been building of her life was one of those frustrating, annoying ones where someone had bent the pieces and mislaid that very last one that would have made the picture complete.

"You don't even know what she wants yet"

"No, that's true", Chummy admitted her voice softening.

"After all what harm can it do? With everything you have now what difference will one conversation over one cup of tea have?"

The question rung in her ears all the way home. She had walked instead of taking the bus; Peter would have left for work by now and as she only had herself to attend to so with the long walk it was of no consequence to anybody how long it took or at what hour she eventually crossed the threshold of their flat. What difference, really, truthfully, would seeing her friend a make? She knew in her heart of hearts that so much had changed this past 2 years particularly that she_ felt_ she had the strength to listen to and then if she had to, to walk away from. Whether that would actually transpire to be the case was a different matter when she was faced with her friend, but only time would tell.

By the time she reached home, she had made a resolution that she would adhere to. The letter, which she had tucked, well hidden, away at the back of her dressing table draw was removed from its hiding place before she even contemplated switching the hot water on for her desperately wanted bath. Sitting down in the half light, she unfolded the letter ironing it as well as she could with her hands to read the text again.

She perused it one final time and for a change, when he slipped into bed that morning fresh from night shift, she shifted in sleep moulding herself to him as she was drawn on to his shoulder and the moment disturbance of another body in bed beside her failed to wake her.


	6. Chapter 6

The bus ride took an age. How she wished she had not turned down Peter's offer to come with her; if only for the company. Glancing at her watch, she realised she had over-estimated the time of the journey so she stepped off the bus two stops early and decided to wander slowly. She had spoken to Isobel briefly to determine their rendezvous and she would make her way quietly to the King's Road.

As she walked across the greenery that was Cadogan Square Gardens, anxiety suddenly hit, creeping up her spine as a deep forgotten memory reared its ugly head. That enforced dinner party at Number 23 with George Aston's mother as she was placed next to him, sitting there unable to squeak more than simple pleasantries as all eyes at the table pretended not to watch them. George Aston had been her mother's choice-du-jour for a potential son in law and although he seemed pleasant enough from the few words they exchanged, the proverbial brick wall had built itself quickly in the inches between them and all she had wanted to do that evening was run, hide and cry at feeling such an embarrassment that she could not hold the most fundamental of conversations.

He had been her mother's last desperate attempt at matrimony when at 23, she had, in a flurry of exasperation at being unable to mould her daughter to her liking, given up the ghost. To some extent, Chummy had been beyond pleased when, with terse words, her mother advised she had found her a place at the Royal School of Needlework and would be refraining from inviting her to any further social occasions so not to affect her study. Chummy knew how false it all sounded, but was at a point where she had lost the ability to care and was somewhat relieved that gone were the days of pretense.

She rushed quickly across the road into Draycott Terrace, taking the long way around to the King's Road, finding the grand tea shop that had been specified in their telephone call.

_"A table has been booked, darling so step inside if you are early and use the old moniker!"_

As Chummy was walked to a quiet corner she briefly watched the diners as they poured tea and chattered around her, hearing snippets of stories of somebody's son who had just left Cambridge and was off to New York to marry Lord somebody or other's daughter. She sat and took up the menu.

"The amount of trouble it took to find you old girl!" she heard suddenly, raising her head from the menu to see Isobel, blonde hair bouncing as she stepped across the floor.

"Hello" she replied, standing, remembering the last time she had seen Isobel; that same blonde hair bobbing and swaying across the quadrant at school when her father came to collect her at the end of that horrid term where they had said what had transpired to be a permanent goodbye to each other. The both sat after exchanging what could have been an awkward kiss on each cheek.

"Is that a wedding ring I see?" Isobel said, as she settled herself, seeing the band almost immediately.

Chummy smiled as she felt her hand being taken from across the table.

"Yes".

"So when, where and who is he?" she replied, excitedly. "I haven't heard hide or hair of you getting spliced and you know how news spreads. Nobody has said a bally word about it and it is just the very thing!"

"One can't imagine they did", Chummy replied clearing her throat. "Mater certainly would have been able to keep it secret".

Isobel looked confused for a moment; not thinking for one moment that Lady Browne would not have had a hand in after hearing some of the stories from friends of friends of her mother's repeated attempts at marriage.

Her eyes widened. "Don't tell me you got yourself into trouble?" she whispered across the table, only to be interupted by a waiter, who swiftly wrote down their request for tea and a selection of cakes before departing.

Chummy smiled. "It really depends on the type of 'trouble' one means. But no, not the usual 'trouble' - his name is Peter Noakes".

"Noakes" she replied, considering whether it was a surname she knew. "English family or Raj?"

"Kent and Ireland, but he was born in Bow".

"Bow?" she asked curiously, stumped for a moment. "That's…..where?"

"East end of London".

"Crikey? Really?" Isobel asked, suddenly felt so deeply ashamed for reacting with such, well, horror that Chummy's parents had allowed it.

"and he is a Policeman. A beat bobby". Chummy could see Isobel digesting her declarations, seeing her mind working to determine whether to be shocked or not. It had been the first time she had spoken of her marriage outside her family and immediate friends and she had wondered a long while ago if it had made its way around her mother's circle and inevitably to people that Chummy had grown up with. It clearly had not.

"So Lady B had absolutely nothing to do with it?" Isobel asked eventually. "With him being..." she struggled with the words, trying desperately to be polite.

"Not quite the social fit?" Chummy said, feeling her blood simmer a little at having to describe him in those terms. "No, Mater had no involvement, nothing".

"Blimey! I wish I had the courage you have".

"Courage? Me?" Chummy replied, quite surprised. The conversation paused as tea was delivered and they whispered their thanks to the waiter. Just as soon as he was out of earshot, Isobel carried on.

"You love him, correct? And you chose him?"

"Yes".

"Then you are a far braver gel than me. You married someone you loved. Mother wants me to marry Philip Harbottle and I have said yes. The wedding is on 28th December. That's why I was trying to get in touch with you – to invite you to whole shebang".

Isobel saw her friend's face drop, this time her own shock being obvious.

"You can say it you know", Isobel said sadly, pouring them both cups of tea.

"Saw what?" Chummy replied, sounding as innocent as she could.

"Say 'why'. You know we have always been honest with each other"

"From what I remember of him he is a prig", she replied, trying to choose her description carefully. She could think of many different illustrations of Philip Harbottle, most them from the slang she heard around herself all day and far too impolite for this particularly company, one of which had slipped from her husband's mouth accidentally and she had been horrified and amused in equal gravity.

"He was. Still is".

"So why?"

"I suppose my life will be comfortable. I will never have to want for anything and his house on Lowndes Square is big enough that I might only have to tolerate him over breakfast once a week".

"That's not a marriage, Belle" Chummy replied, thinking of the fact that there were days that she felt bereft if she ate alone. "It's not even friendship".

"But it's what Mother wants and I am her only chance of a grandchild since William died".

"I did hear about Will. I am sorry" Chummy said, leaning across the table to squeeze her friend's hand.

"That water swept under that bridge a long while ago. It's been 7 years".

"7?" Chummy replied, not realising how speedily time had passed.

Isobel nodded. "You will come to the wedding? I need an ally before the whole blasted thing drowns me and you know we always stuck up for each other at school. Bring Peter. I'd love to meet him".

She began to root in her obviously expensive leather handbag. "I brought an invitation for you on the chance".

Chummy was handed a cream envelope embossed with "Miss Camilla Browne" in heavy guilt.

"It's St Mary's in Hockham. Daniel Ferguson's parents; you remember Daniel? Well his parents have said we can have the reception at the Hall. Mother wants to make a weekend of it. We can arrange for you to be collected on the Friday morning. If you want to come that is…" Isobel paused realising she had run off with the arrangements without considering if Chummy could even have the time, or even wherewithal, to go. "You will come, please?" she pleaded.

"Peter is off over Christmas and I am sure the Sister's might let me go. I will ask".

"Spiffing!" Isobel replied closing her handbag.

Chummy smiled at the exclamation. Even though she knew she used to word herself, it sounded quite odd and so out of place. For a moment she wondered what on earth the people of Poplar though of all her idiosyncrasies.

"It will be nice to have somebody there on my side!"

"Belle", she paused. "If he is not for you..."

"Chummy. I'm 32. I should be married by now and he is the only offer going! I am sure, once its all done and I, well, it will be very jolly indeed!"

She bit her tongue; having heard that phrase roll from her own mouth many a time before. Of all the people in the world, who was she to dictate? She might have been in that particular craft one of those times long ago; of having no choice; of being forced under duress to please other people. It was the only thing that relieved her about that time - that she had her freedom as _nobody wanted_ to marry her.

It was pleasing in its wretchedness that by nobody falling at her feet, it meant she could live.


	7. Chapter 7

It was nearly 7 o'clock and dark by the time she rummaged in her hand bag for the key to the flat, quickly trying to locate it as she felt drops of rain. Entirely in her own world she failed to hear the steps behind her until she put her hand to the lock and felt somebody take her firmly by the wrist.

Her heart thundered against her ribs for what seemed to be long, excruciating moments until she saw a small burn on the hand of this person who had accosted her on her own doorstep - a burn she had treated last week when he had splashed boiling hot water on himself.

Camilla stopped herself cursing. It would entirely unladylike to do so, even in the pitch dark of a deserted street.

"That's not funny, Peter", she said without looking up. She turned to find him with a silly grin on his face.

"I'm sorry," he said, carefully resting his hand on her hip and stepping closer to her. "Can you find it in your heart to forgive me and not slam the door in my face?"

She rolled her eyes, wishing he would not use that look her. She had only ever seen that look on one thing before – the dog that used to sit on their porch in India begging to be fed and petted. She gave in to him every time and she would give in to Peter for years to come.

"I'll consider it" she replied, wheeling back around to open the front door.

He smiled at her back. "Don't take too long about it!" he replied.

"Where did you spring from anyway?" she asked as they stepped over the threshold and he closed the door behind them.

"I was walking back from Mum's when I saw you on the bus".

"So you decided to follow me?" she questioned.

"I thought it would be far more interesting" he said, taking her coat from her and hanging it up. "Actually, no, " he paused, "you were too far ahead of me and I really didn't want to run until it started to rain".

Chummy just shook her head. It reminded her of the times where he would sneak looks at the rota and appear out of nowhere on her rounds. She had been flattered the first time it happened, amused the second, third and fourth and by the time he appeared on the fifth time she had resolved that she needed to question his sanity.

By the time she had poured him a Whiskey and she a gin, and he had started the living room fire, he had started to ask her questions about her tea, pleased she was home with a smile on her face.

"So it was not all terrible?" he asked, his arm around her shoulder as they sat side by side on the settee, toying with the gold chain around her neck.

"No".

"So are we going to the wedding?"

She sat up and looked at him, resting her hand on his knee, clearly thinking of her answer.

"Belle would like me to go and she wants to meet you".

"So we go" he said simply.

"Peter, do you really want to?"

He sat up with her, taking her hands in his.

"Everything you have ever told me about your childhood has been negative. Isobel was the first positive I've heard in all this time. Surely it can't be all that bad?"

"I suppose….well its one of those clashes isn't it? I want you to know about me, but….I'm just", she paused, toying with his hands. "I'm frightened of becoming what I was then".

It was a bold assertion and something that a few years ago would never have crossed her lips. She knew now she could say that to him and he would not laugh and dismiss her feelings like her blood family seemed to perpetually do.

"I know them, I know what to expect but even with that, it still feels so very …I suddenly remembered things. All those horrific dinners where I would be paraded like a prize heifer in front of somebody's son; nobody caring how degraded I felt. Mater not caring if I was happy or not as long as she was. It would just eat away at me, every single time...".

"I love you Camilla and _I_ care" he said, seeing her eyes fill in response. "I could never, and will never, switch that off because your mother didn't think – doesn't think – me suitable".

"You are you," he carried on. "I don't care whether your Dad could buy up half of the East End or if you had tea every day at the Ritz. I just want you here with me, sitting on the floor by the fire, eating fish and chips and being under this roof".

She smiled and leant over to kiss him, trying to pour as much love and gratitude into it as she could.

"I can't pretend I understand all of that; your mother choosing your wife or husband for you".

"It was perfectly normal and just the way it was", she replied, sadly. "It was our inevitable outcome and we never knew any different. If you happened to fall in love with them 2 years or 10 years later then so be it, but if not, it was the most suitable arrangement to be had. Money, social ties, preferably both if you could have them. Philip Harbottle has enough money to sink a ship and that is why Belle's mother wants her to marry him".

Peter shook his head. He'd already decided who he wanted to spend his life with and had not needed anyone else to propose to her on his behalf. Hopefully in 10 years' time he would love her even more.

"So she chose your brother's wives?"

Chummy nodded. "I saw all of that, saw my sisters-in-law being selected like they were on market stalls and I knew I never wanted that".

"I'm glad for that", he replied. "So we are going to the wedding?"

"You really want to go, don't you?"

"I'll admit to being curious, but only because it means I will know more about you if we do". She smiled at him.

"I do suppose I will be the sideshow again".

"That's me, surely? The dirt common copper that dared to place his hands on Lady Browne's only daughter?" She could see he was only half joking.

"I couldn't think of anything more wonderful than being sullied by you" she whispered quietly as he turned over her hand, kissing the palm.

"You've been watching too many films" she said in a whisper as she saw him smile. "Peter, you are far better than any of them and if anything does get said, I'll be quite happy to put them straight!"

"As long as I don't lose you back there", he said, frowning.

"No. Never" she replied, nestling up to him as they both sat down again. "I could never go back there again. I couldn't bear it".


	8. Chapter 8

As she has spent most of last night and early this morning sitting on the floor of a grimy tenement room with Jane Hooper and with it now some six hours later delivering Thomas Hooper upside down at 5am that morning was starting to catch up on her. The car that had been sent to collect them, and seen off with cheery waves from her friends, rolled its way through the East End and, as the war torn buildings cleared into the suburbs, she could feel her eyes closing as the winter sun engulfed the vehicle causing her to blink to clear her vision.

"If you want to have a nap," he whispered, having noticed her heavy eyes some minutes before, "there is a comfortable shoulder here. We won't be there for at least another couple of hours". She smiled sleepily and moved across the back seat of the car to him. The driver had barely said a word to them as he loaded their cases into the boot of the car, swiftly opening the door for them both to slide in side by side.

The moment her head rested on his shoulder and his arm engulfed her, her eyes closed. A few minutes nap would invigorate her but it stretched into significantly over an hour when a voice in her ear and a hand on her shoulder woke her up.

"Camilla? Camilla?"

Through the haze she realised he was touching her chin, lifting her head, the sun still glaring into the car but before her the buildings and clutter of the East End has disappeared to be replaced by rolling green fields and trees naked of their leaves in the Norfolk countryside.

"I've just seen a sign for Hockham. It's only a few miles".

"What time is it?" she asked, adjusting her glasses.

"Just past half past 12"

"Oh, I'm sorry. I've been asleep so long"

"I've enjoyed the peace" he quipped before quickly touching a peck to her forehead to which he received a gentle push to his chest as she sat up. "Are you feeling better?"

"Yes", she replied, a degree more refreshed than she had been an hour or so ago but still wishing to just sink to sleep again.

"Are you sure?" he asked, caressing the back of her hand.

"Absolutely" she replied, smiling, not wanting to worry him about the fluttering in her stomach. It had started the day after Isobel's letter, waking up with a rush of anxiety; something she had not experienced for years. It would slowly settle as her mind occupied itself with rotas, clinics and deliveries but the moment she had peace to herself she became aware of the panic. She knew that a good proportion of the time he could see right through her and had been nothing but optimistic and curious about this weekend, but she had mused that she was the one who had known, for years, the horrors that this society could bring to her doorstep and that, for once, he was the innocent one.

She regarded him, his tie discarded and jacket open. She leant across and kissed him, feeling guilty that she had fallen asleep for so long and he had had to journey alone.

He broke the kiss. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"I missed you"

"You were asleep"

"Are you turning me away?"

"Not in the least, but... public" he whispered nodding his head towards the back of the driver.

"Our staff were meant to not see, not hear and just do", she explained as he frowned. "Well at least when Mater was not in earshot". There had been snippets of stories she had told him of sitting in the kitchen with her brothers drinking hot chocolate in icy winters, listening for feet on the steps for fear of Mater's wrath for taking themselves below stairs and daring to consort with servants. All the children, but Chummy particularly, would yearn for the freedom of that cup of steaming hot chocolate laced with fresh milk and the liberty, that in their presence, the cook would allow herself to hold small hands and display those signs of affection so otherwise absent from their lives. Elbows went on the table and spillages went by the by.

"Pa's chauffeur barely ever said a word to us though. He just nodded a lot. See that little black curtain?" she said, pointing. "You can just pull it across and that's that".

He shifted, still uncomfortable at being driven across the countryside when he had offered to borrow a car and to take them to be told that Isobel would never forgive them if they declined being collected.

"Having servants is just such an odd thing…." His grandmother had been a tweeny and then a kitchen maid before she married his grandfather and he used to sit fascinated by her stories of what 'them upstairs' used to get up to. It was mostly minor scandal that an 8 year old boy never understood but it was the stories of the cars and entertaining foreign dignitaries that held his interest, if only for the descriptions of their homelands and the miles they had travelled.

"I never knew any different. One of my first memories is the gardener's wife picking me up and swinging me around by the hands. I must have only been about 2 and I remember Mater giving her such an absolute dressing down for it".

"What for?"

"For letting me enjoy myself. Children were meant to be kept quiet and out of the way and if we were too rowdy we would be in trouble for days"

"But that's just a child being a child. A bit of noise never did anyone any harm", he said, sitting up a little producing his tie from his pocket.

"It did for Mater. She would just order someone else to punish us and then subject us to sour looks for days".

He nodded, having been told that night she lay in his bed for the first time and he had seen the scar on her thigh_. "The groom's belt when I was six". _It had fallen from her lips so easily that night; to tell him of her belief she was an inconvenience to her mother and to tell someone else was on of the oddest, yet most liberating experiences of her life, knowing he would be concerned and would not dismiss her.

"We got a clout on the head", remembering the sting of his mothers palm and its inevitably accurate contact no matter how many times he or his brother ducked or weaved.

"But that was that?"

"Yes. Short sharp shock and then Mum would give us a penny to run to the corner shop for sweets".

Chummy smiled, remembering those times when they were in Somerset and seeing excited faces of the children in the village as they poured out of Mrs Jones' shop, longing to run inside herself and hold on of those small paper bags, filled always in her mind with orange drops and barley sugar. They were never allowed to consort with the other youngsters and she would always watch from afar.

"It was a breath of fresh air to go to school, even with the old Matron leaning over your shoulder smelling of pear drops".

"I suppose all of that is just where we are so different" he said, lacing his hand into hers, eyes wandering over the floor of the car.

"I don't think we are. Alright, our circumstances were different but I think we are really quite alike; underneath it all" looking up to catch his eye before she paused. "Oh dear, here it is". The 'oh dear' slipped out accidentally but he absorbed it as the car ground its way up the winding graveled path. As they approached the house, it shone in front of them, opulent imposing perfection. Chummy silently thought the place, whilst it probably still was filled with relics - both living and inanimate - and antiques, was foreboding and empty. Whilst it had not changed one iota it seemed from her visits as a youngster, she had changed inexorably and she saw through it's facade.

The car pulled up and Chummy saw Isobel and a man, clearly a butler, standing at the top of the stone steps.

Instead of a shake to the hand, as they stepped out of the car, Peter received a kiss to his cheek.

"I have been positively desperate to meet you!" she exclaimed, words flowing with enthusiasm as was her usual want. "I had been wondering all these years if a gentleman had bagged our Chummy there! Come on in! Barely anyone arrived yet and Mother is becoming all hot and bothered the entire congregation will descend the moment the first cup is poured for tea!"

Chummy felt a hand arrive in her back as they walked up the stairs to the front door as behind them their cases were removed from the boot by the driver.

"Now, Daniel's Mother has put you both in the room on the first floor directly opposite his Pa's portrait", Isobel said as they walked into the decadent hallway.

"Gosh! Is that still there?" Chummy replied, remembering how the children used to run petrified past the picture of her perfectly amiable late father, although there was something about that portrait that sent shivers up spines.

Isobel nodded. "An earthquake wouldn't even take that portrait down".

To their side they saw the butler carrying their suitcases and Chummy could see Peter resisting just carrying them himself.

"Hurry up though" Isobel said squeezing Chummy's arm.

"Mother is around somewhere and she is dying to see you again!"


	9. Chapter 9

"What's wrong?" she said, seeing him walk into the bathroom with a perplexed look on his face as she washed her hands, freshening up after the journey.

"Separate beds?"

Camilla smiled and turned to see him leaning on the door frame. Again, the class divide rudely presented itself to her.

"It's a throwback from decades ago" she said, padding her hands dry. "This house used to belong to Daniel's great grandfather and he put single beds all along this wing as he didn't want people to think he had no money. Sharing a bed implied you were _forced_ to share". She did not dare add the 'it was lower class to be forced to share' that flitted through her mind. She had never heard a word, or indeed discussed, the divide that society told her separated him from her and she refrained from the full explanation.

"So wives visited?!" he said; having read his history books at school but not thinking for one moment that the odd arrangement might still persist.

"It was more the other way around" she said, quickly adding the word 'apparently' to her sentence, even though she had no reason to; suddenly conscious of her purity before she met him.

"It's a different world", he said, withdrawing back into the room to pick up an envelope that had been left on one of the beds.

"What's that?" she asked, walking from the bathroom and sitting next to him as he read down the list.

"The itinerary for the weekend".

"Belle did say her mother was going to put on a show".

"All of this to get married?" he said, reading down the list of entertainment, dinner timed down to the minute, leading up to the wedding on Sunday at 2 o'clock precisely. "It doesnt look like we will have a moment to ourselves at this rate!"

Chummy had forgotten the kind of money that could be spent on occasions like these until she stepped over the threshold of the house, but it still rankled. Her small, understated wedding had been perfect in its simplicity and the thought of how many delivery packs, pinards and bedsheets that this entire weekend of expense could buy. When thinking it about, it was one thing that could make her furious, but she held her tongue for fear of one of those rare occasions she could fly off the handle.

"We will", she replied, taking the list from him and quickly running her eyes down it before folding it back into its envelope.

"Shall we go for a walk?" she asked. "If I remember rightly the gardens were magnificent, even in winter. Isobel's Pa used to say that he was sure his gardener was a magician!"

He nodded. Isobel was right, there was barely anybody else there yet and there was an ulterior motive for it. Chummy knew that on the walk down to the river they would have a perfect view of the drive and she could see who intended to descend and if there was anybody she particularly needed to be prepared for. She had not thought to ask Isobel who she had invited as she had entirely lost touch with that life and she would struggle to place names and faces together. So far, though the journey itself had not brought any troubles, she felt there were still obstacles to come.

Passing nobody, they walked hand in hand down the steps onto the shale path that wound its way around the grounds.

"Did you used to come here a lot?" he asked when they were sufficiently far away from the house.

"Mater used to bring us at least twice a year as Daniel's parents are loosely related to my aunt. I can't remember how but it's all a little complicated. There must be at least two rather acrimonious divorces in the depths somewhere".

They walked past the perfectly manicured lawn, the stone statues and towards the bridge that crossed the river.

"Do you regret walking away from a life like this?" he suddenly asked, stopping dead, their only accompaniment being the trickle of water from the fountain. He had silently taken in these new surroundings, watched with curiousity the staff at the house silently going about their business, the immaculate decoration and fine furniture. He knew it was all material but for the first time he had really, truthfully considered the vast canyon that ought to have run between them.

Her answer was simple and immediate. "No".

She turned to him realising he had stopped by the bridge.

"Come on" she said holding out her hand to him, "the gardens go all the way down past the river too". He was, however, not for moving.

"Are you sure? I want to give you the world, but…..I can't". He had pushed his hands in his pockets, wearing a frown she had only seen once or twice but she knew it only materialised when there had been something that had been particularly troubling to him.

"You say I get melancholy" she said, walking a few paces back to him, deliberately extracting his hands from his pockets. "Peter, I love you desperately. You give me everything I want – you love me, you listen to me, you respect me, you make me feel…_ wonderful"_. She had whispered the last word even though there was not a soul in sight. "All of this, this _excess,_ means nothing to me any more".

He looked at her with pursed lips.

"Let's walk along the river. There used to be another bridge and I think there's a pontoon about 50 yards up. Please".

With the entreaty and the plea that washed over her face, he relented. It still didn't fit and although he knew he had encouraged her to come here for higher purposes, seeing this place in all its glory had invaded him more than he would care to confess. He took up her hand again and they walked in silence, spotting the pontoon closer than she had first thought.

"It's so quiet down here", he said, as they sat down, gazing upwards. "The sky is so clear".

She looked up too having leant back down so she was lying on the wood of the pontoon; not even thinking of the lack of decorum she was now exhibiting.

"I used to come down here for hours and just stare at the sky, although one doesn't think that water is particularly fresh enough to dangle anything in any more! It was always beautiful here though".

He regarded her, laying beside her on his side, propping his head up on his hand. "I don't know. I think you are more beautiful than any stream, tree, sky or star".

She smiled at him. "I think you need my glasses".

"I can see perfectly clearly, thank you", he replied, smiling back at her. He rested his hand on her stomach and leant down, kissing the juncture between shoulder and neck.

"Peter, not here", she said.

"Take your mind from the gutter, Mrs Noakes. I would have to arrest myself for outraging public decency if I carried on".

He saw a small smile as a car wound its way towards the house. She too had noticed that other cars had started to arrive and could imagine the flurry of Isobel and her mother hurriedly ascending and descending the stairs to welcome their guests and had started to become nervous again.

He had hold of her hand now, running his fingers around hers, twisting her wedding ring. "Does Isobel really not want to marry him?" he asked, suddenly fascinated by the platinum band that he had reverently slipped on her finger only a bare few weeks ago. Every word of his vows were meant to be kept and it had struck him that if Isobel would say those same words that he had heard fall from his wife's mouth, that she would be...He couldn't think of the word. Lying? No, not really. Living under false pretences? Maybe.

"She has no choice" she replied simply.


	10. Chapter 10

He had left her changing for dinner, flatly refusing to call one of the housemaids for the glass of water he wanted. _ "I have legs and hands and can find the kitchen without a map". _

Although he would happily follow her lead with regards to whether this particular fork should be used for that fish or that meat going to get a simple glass of water was not something he would impose on that poor girl, so reminiscent of his memories of his grandmother, who he had seen running around repeatedly with silver trays laden with drinks. He had already received a very odd and somewhat disparging look from a fellow guest when he had held the door open for her when they had returned from their walk in the garden and she had an incredulous expression on her face. Chummy had just smiled when she noticed, not telling him that he really should not have done that; at least not in this type of society.

"Oh, you will never guess who I saw arriving!" he heard suddenly as he reached the bottom of the stairs, about to walk past one of the many studies the house held. It was a woman's voice, clipped and not so unlike his wife's.

"Do tell" another female voice asked.

"Camilla Browne".

Peter was ready to continue towards the kitchen and to ignore the gossip until he heard his wife's name, presuming that there could not be two 'Camilla Brownes' who may be known to these people. He decided to stay for moment, sitting down the bottom of the stairs, 'accidentally' undoing his shoelace and pretending to tie it back up curiousity getting the better of him at the mention of her name. He didn't think he might regret it.

"Really?" This was a third voice.

"Mmm. I heard Johnny say she was in a Nunnery".

"A nunnery? How apt. Best place for her – tucked away from the male population. Not that she would attract much attention that way anyway!"

It was followed with one of the most derogatory laughs he had ever heard. There were definitely three people in that room, discussing his wife and he could feel his blood start to simmer. He had to be calm, collected and able to cope in those moments when he was faced with violence and abuse when he was on the beat, but this was different. He would not be embarrassing her in making a spectacle of himself but he sat and continued to listen, the voices however melding into one complicated jumble of insults.

"Oh no, darling" the first voice suddenly rang out. "I saw a wedding ring!"

"Pardon?". The surprise in the voice was palpable even through a wall. "Camilla Browne married? I wonder which poor fool that is then?"

"I did see someone from the back with her but I can't say it was the husband or not. Last time I heard that Lady B had tried to marry her off to old Ma Aston's middle one and I haven't see hide nor hair of Georgie for aeons".

"Oh, no, that went firmly by the wayside. He married Abigail Farrington, must be about 5 or 6 years ago now. Three little boys already!"

"Is she the one with the laugh that sounds like she is having an asthma attack?"

"Yes; that's her. I know so little about her but she is harmless enough one imagines".

"In wonder if Daddy helped the arrangement along?"

"You know what Pa Browne was like with his money old girl. Stingy old goat wouldn't part with enough of it to off load _her_".

He stood abruptly having been prepared to listen, walk away and ignore it. Instead he found his feet walking to the door, 'accidentally on purpose' stumbling upon the group. It bore no impact on him how he had been described by these people he would perhaps never have contact with again in his life as he had been called worse than a 'fool' on the beat on an almost regular basis.

"Excuse me?" he asked as three made up, immaculately dressed women turned towards him. "Did I hear you say you saw Camilla Browne this morning?"

"Yes. Do you know her?" the first voice answered. It belonged to a rather prim looking twenty-something nursing a pre-dinner glass of what was probably disproportionately expensive champagne.

"In a way" he replied before he found himself suddenly absorbed into the confines of the group as they collectively realised that he could be a source of gossip.

"So is it right she is married, then?" This time it was a blonde, not so unlike Isobel, with perhaps less welcoming eyes.

"Yes. I went to the wedding. Only a few weeks ago if I remember rightly", he replied innocently politely refusing a glass of champagne that was offered to him.

"Well blow me".

"Do you know who he is then?" The group was closing in on him like he was prey.

"Yes. A police officer" he replied, seeing jaws drop and little gasps at this 'scandal'.

"Bet you Mummy is pleased" the third voice, an entirely too skinny brunette, said. "Do you know his name?"

"Yes", he replied nodding earnestly with no intention of revealing his identity quite yet. "Chap called Noakes if I remember rightly".

"Poor fellow being stuck with her. Wonder if there is a reason?" The questions were shooting back and forth between the three of them, bombarding him.

"You mean he had to marry her?"

"Not as far as I know" he interjected. "I was just on my way around to speak to her. If you see her could you tell her?" It was an utter lie as he knew perfectly well where she was.

"Of course" the blonde said. "Didn't catch your name though?"

He thought for a second.

"Just tell her her husband was looking for her".

He turned tail on the deathly silence he had induced, deliberately not turning back. Her background had never been a significant issue for him; he knew they were different and knew how they could be perceived by others but he was now starting to understand - properly - why she had been so reticent to revisit this place and her past life.

Her father's money; her families money had never featured his thoughts perhaps too innocently as he had started to learn from her just exactly how materially privileged her life had been before Poplar. Even when had learnt of the handmade dresses, jewellery foisted upon her by her mother, tea at the Savoy and supper at the Ritz on a regular basis and staff to cater for your every whim, he knew so little of the reality of it that it was not something that even in his imagination he could stretch to considering.

His glass of water forgotten, Peter walked straight back upstairs into their room where he found her sitting at the dressing table, one leg drawn over the other as she clipped her suspenders.

She had seen him come into the room, assuming it was his return from the kitchen, but heard the key being turned in the lock securing it tightly before he walked over to her. She raised her head to see him sit down on the small velvet and mahogany stool, a squeeze enough for two grown adults before she felt his palm slide up her cheek and the forcible kiss that followed, that quite frankly, took her breath away for a moment.

"What was...?" she spluttered out, nicely shocked at his reappearance and the determination of his contact.

"Just never forget I will never stop loving you".

"I won't" she replied, confusion reigning at this sudden burst of affection and the gravity that was painted across his face.

"Are you alright?" she asked.

He nodded quickly and painted a smile to his face to reassure her.

"Did you get your water?"

"No, I got to the bottom of the stairs and realised I missed you too much and came straight back up"

Chummy laughed. It was one of those wonderful, liberating expressions of joy that she had found she could frequently be lifted into in this new life of hers.

He had already decided, for now, she would not know of what he had heard.


	11. Chapter 11

He saw her surrounded, cornered even, by a gaggle of women. Two of them were part of the coven that he had stumbled upon a few hours earlier in the study, smiling as they greeted his wife and he could see that look on her face. It was that one she tended to adopt dealing with awkward patients.

Peter was some yards away deep in conversation with Daniel and his brother, finding them so much more amiable than the women he had encountered so far and it would be rude to break away. Besides, he thought she knew she probably knew them of old and knew what they could be like.

As soon as they descended on her, Camilla's heart sunk to her shoes; picking the perfect time when neither Isobel nor Peter were at her side. She knew that there would only be one subject and that was her marriage as she had been seen by them, walking carefully down the stairs on Peter's arm, her wedding ring displayed as she clung to his bicep half of out of fear of what she was facing and the other half out of trepidation that she would take them both head first down the stairs if she stepped on the hem of her dress.

She was subjected to a round of _"Chummy! Darling, it's been years!"_ from people she could only describe as acquaintances before the subject quickly fell to her wedding.

"So when was it?" she was asked.

"September 24th", she replied, skin starting to prickle at the over enthusiastic group in front of her, pretending - she felt - to be interested.

"Oh! Autumn weddings are always lovely!" Chummy could hear how false this voice was. She was not entirely convinced if the person before her was one of two sisters she had known from childhood, one of which had almost married one of her brothers. A rush of memories came back to her of so many conversations of this nature in the past when she had been quizzed on her matrimonial status and her stuttering, shy responses.

"So tell us, is it right he's a Rozzer?" She hated the nicknames offered to Police Officers. 'Rozzer' was perhaps one of the more polite ones she had heard and it had at least some historical significance rather than the some of the ones so full of hate she had heard when her husband and his colleagues were mentioned.

"Peter is a Policeman yes" she replied.

"So he has to work for a living?"

"Yes".

"And you are working as a nurse?" How that little piece of gossip had made its way around so quickly was anybody's guess.

"A midwife".

"Still I suppose its essential with his wages. I can't believe Policemen are paid a fortune".

She heard the questions rattle away around her, barely allowing her a moment to respond with little more than a word or two. She stopped listening properly as she watched Peter and Daniel who were now on a circuit of the room, passing the group but only allowing a brief moment of eye contact.

"You know, I always imagine they have rather rough hands".

"Who?"

"The lower classes – from all the manual labour".

"He's a Police Officer, Louie! Hardly a coal miner!"

"I saw him talking to Frankie Halliday before. Rather delicious though". The description of her husband brought her attention back to the group. The less-than-Honourable Louisa Capstick – daughter of one of her mother's more influential friends - was on the prowl. She was normally someone who would never give Chummy the time of day but clearly her husband was unfortunately of interest.

"The policeman or Frankie?"

"Certainly not Frankie. He sends shivers!"

"The rozzer, Meggie darling! Mind you, he does seem to pay you a lot of attention. How do you stand it?"

"How do I stand what?" she asked, quite confused at the question. There was nothing to 'stand'.

"Being pawed all the time", she addressed Chummy. "He clearly has no etiquette whatsoever. Completely indiscreet behaviour if I have ever seen it!"

Camilla couldn't say she had noticed whether or not she was being 'pawed' all the time. She was quite used to the affection and attention he paid her so his arm around her waist or a touch on the hand was perfectly acceptable. She would miss it if he stopped.

"What was he up to?"

"Did you not see when they arrived? Talk about too many hands!"

Chummy tried to remember – he had put out his hand to help her out of the car; put his hand on her back as they walked up the stairs to the House and oh, yes, that hand that guided into the reception room was perhaps, in a world she once inhabited, a little inappropriate but she didn't have the heart to tell him off. She wondered for a moment, if she slipped away whether they would notice.

"What was his name again?"

"I heard it was Peter Noakes".

"And where's he from again? His accent is just so working class!"

"He's from Bow", Chummy finally answered.

"What does his father do?"

"He broke his leg years ago and can't work. His mother is a char", she replied.

"A cleaner?!"

"Yes", she replied, voice becoming terse.

"His mother works?!"

"Yes, she has to. Three jobs actually - to pay the bills". Chummy knew she was about to take on a fourth too even though Peter had tried to talk her out of it.

"But a char darling! Mother's cleaner is a diamond but I certainly would not want to marry her repellent offspring!"

"Camilla, what on earth possessed you?"

She decided to be obtuse. "I don't know what you mean", she replied, leaving a trace of innocence in her voice. She knew perfectly well what 'possessed' her in marrying him but of all people in this world, these three women were not ones she intended to explain herself to.

"Are you serious darling? A rozzer from the East End? You do realise you will be scraping to get by for the rest of your life? I couldn't bare it if I couldn't nip off to Harrods or Fortnums or the South of France at a moment's!" A round of giggles was heard but Camilla had started to drift. She recognised it easily, the sensation she had not felt in earnest for a long time of withdrawing from herself, voices becoming quiet and distanced as her soul almost lifted from her body.

"Its just so _common_!" she heard, letting the conversation happen around her, barely listening as she tried to scan the room for Peter again, desperate to be brought swiftly back down to earth. "Still it must be quite amusing".

"Amusing? How is lack of money and living right on top of your neighbours amusing?"

"The experience darling. Strike off the old list of seeing how the proletariat live".

"I don't think I could tolerate it. I always imagined the East End to be a hole".

She finally found him, talking to someone she vaguely recognised but thankfully walking in her direction. He had had a change of heart and decided that he would rescue her after all, sliding into the group hearing the insult that was delivered about his birth place.

"The East End is hole my dear. I remember going out to Thurrock to see Halibut's sister and we had to pass through Poplar as a road was closed. Blasted collapsed building as far as I remember. Children everywhere, screaming, shouting, women with rollers in their hair standing out in the street. Terrible!"

He slid into the group next to her, his arm a touch too tight around her waist, to the chorus of 'hellos' that were just a little too sickly sweet. He didn't bother addressing anybody but her.

"I think you promised you would dance with me" he said, as he felt him pull her hand away. She noticed as well, with some devilment, that his East End accent had just got a little thicker for effect. She was expecting the sentence to end in his Dad's favourite greeting for her. _"Petal"._

She was grateful for the interruption even though she had no plans to set foot on that dance floor.

"Thank you" she whispered and without addressing her companions, who barely noticed, she walked away apart from one comment.

_"How rude not even to say 'hello'"_

_"Well that is the lower classes for you darling. I can't imagine how he speaks to her in private"._

She went to walk them in the opposite direction but he stopped her.

"I meant it you know, come on, come and dance with me".

She surveyed the dance floor and the slow music that was playing as she was pulled across the crowd into the couples that were dancing out onto the veranda and gardens. She took a second glance around them, seeing couples all around her; bodies lilting to the gentle music.

_"Once"._

He smiled at her and she felt a hand slide around her hips as he pulled her closer before he took her hand in his and rested it on his chest.

"Who or what is Halibut?" he asked, going to build up to questions about the real conversation that he had seen taking place.

"A fish", she replied deadpan.

"I gathered that!" he replied, smiling gently twirling themselves so they slipped easily into the group.

"James Hallyburton. I can't say I know its whether a play on his surname or the fact he, well, resembles said halibut".

"Can we go for a walk instead? You know I have three left feet" she carried on offering a pleading face.

"I don't think this is dancing" he said, looking around them. "It looks more like swaying and I think even you and I can manage that".

He could see she was reluctant, watching people seeing if they were looking at her.

"How are you feeling?"

"Detached" she said bluntly. "I am here, but..." she looked skywards. "I am a million miles away too".

She felt his hand slide lower down her hip to be just this side of decent, holding her tighter as physical support if nothing else, seeing how distracted she was. "Peter what are you doing?!"

"There are 3 women behind you who are staring at you. Just giving them reason to!" he joked, wanting desperately to take that look from her eyes.

"Please don't" she whispered desperately trying to take the crack out of her voice as her pleas for a walk had been solely so she could breathe through the tension that had started to build in her body.

"You are going to get me into so much trouble one of these days", she said as his hand crept nominally further up her back.

"Can we go for a walk or upstairs? Please?"

He had seen that look that she wore before and nodded as she felt him take her hand and lead her away.


	12. Chapter 12

He had locked the bedroom door before he swept her into his arms again, determined to distract her and calm her. He had sometimes failed to understand why she had been so nervous, so wary, but his experience this afternoon had only served to chip away at his belief that nobody on earth could be as bad as she had portrayed them. Not to get him wrong, he did believe her, but he was generally quite a positive person who was ready to think that there was good in everybody.

"Stop please" she said quietly.

"No" he replied, turning her again as she felt the edge of one of the beds touch the back of her legs.

"I do love you Mrs Noakes" he said, sliding a hand around her neck as she closed her eyes drinking in the reverence of his voice which for a moment broke through the depression that had engulfed her and prompted her pleas to be anywhere but in the midst of that dance floor. She expected a kiss but instead felt him bump at her and she toppled backwards on the bed. Normally she might have laughed but he could see how she fell, with a thump, that displayed only heavy limbs.

Gently he lay down beside her seeing the change in her. "I'm sorry. I was trying the cheer you up".

She smiled and shook her head.

"You have nothing to feel sorry for. Really, absolutely nothing" he said, rubbing her hand up and down his forearm.

She lay quietly as she felt him sit up and take off his jacket hanging it on one of the bedposts.

"I suppose..." she started. "I thought they couldn't upset me any more. I thought I could cope with it, just for Belle, just this once and I have been so foolish to think I could".

Tension had wound itself up inside her and although she was rooted to the bed she felt as though her heart would shake itself into pieces at this drastic, sudden realisation that, underneath it all so little about the reality of her feelings towards her life before had changed.

"What did they ask you?" he asked, lying on his side next to her, squashed into the tiny single bed.

"About you - who you were, where you were from".

He could easily guess the rest from just hearing the end of the conversation that he did and how distracted and upset she was becoming. "I stood there", she carried on, "and nothing had changed since I last saw them". She remembered her niece's christening vividly and the looks she received, snippets of conversation deriding her choice to be a nurse and the faux sympathy she received for not having a ring on her finger. How odd it was that now that band was there, the complex of superiority was still there biting at her.

"I felt as though I was there to be picked over. Scavenged upon like the failure everybody else tells me I have been".

He had thought twice about telling her about his encounter with them earlier that afternoon. He had been respectful, had not raised his voice, but he would freely admit that if he had encountered such bullying in the middle of the East End he would have no qualms in ensuring that the perpetrators knew his exact feelings on the matter. He knew that, somehow in their twisted logic, marrying him was the 'failure'; even though he knew in his heart of hearts that she loved him and she would never express those feelings herself as they were simply not true.

"You are not useless, Camilla".

"Inadequate then".

"No, not that either. Not as a Nurse, not to me and you will be the most nurturing, loving mother".

She could not help the short exclamation that fell from her mouth. "Why you even want to..." she stopped. "I sometimes think Mater was right that she could do nothing with me. Nobody could do something so fundamental as to fall in love with me. I know you are talking sense and I know you love me, but I frighten myself some times as to how I still let Mater, them, overpower me." She started crying in earnest and felt her glasses being removed as she was handed his handkerchief.

"Do you think I'm daft?" he asked. It was by no means accusatory. It was a simple question.

"No", she replied, sniffling away tears.

"Then believe me, I know you should never have given me time of day".

She was about to say something when she felt his fingertips touch her lips to quieten her. "But you did and I am glad of that. We can have the most wonderful life and we don't need drivers or houses in the country for it. I would love to think I could give you all of those material things too, but these people are so lacking that they cannot even begin to understand what we have. You told me that I was far better than every single one of those put together and the same applies to you. My wife is not a commodity."

"It started when I was 17. Nearly 7 years of standing sky high but feeling as small as a pin and not one; nobody even interested enough in you to...". She was losing her words; suddenly incapable of forming coherant sentences any more. Those forced, stilted conversations rushed back to her, not able to keep eye contact as Lady Browne's latest plot for her daughter went by the wayside as the numbness infiltrated her body feeling every eye in the room on her.

"I _wanted_ to marry you, Camilla. I can even tell you the exact moment I decided".

"Oh?" she was genuinely intrigued. He had told her when he fell in love with her quite readily but it had always confused her slightly as to why.

"When I saw you sitting with Jenny and Cynthia in the garden, just after Fred bought Evie. You were sitting on those bales of hay and I could only see you from the side, but you were laughing tyring to put pins in Jenny's hair because the wind was blowing it this way and that. Sister Julienne must have thought I had lost my mind when she found me rooted there like a statue. I decided I definitely wanted to marry you when I saw you in that green dress before we went up to see Mum. Did you not see how I looked at you?"

"I did, but I didn't think..." she replied, having seen the look on his face for a moment as his eyes scraped up and down examining her in fine detail, but she had dismissed it as her mind playing tricks.

"I was thinking too many deadly sins at once. Virtue never came into it".

She smiled for the first time.

" You know I don't think like they do". She had started to feel guilty that she was hurting him with these words that for once were falling easily from her mouth.

"I do know that".

"I am glad I had my choice. It was just a blasted battle to get there!" She smiled genuinely, feeling her tears dry up. "Do you want to go back down to the party?" she asked.

"No not really" he replied. It was approaching midnight anyway and he always found that when he did strings of nights, the weary impact tended to rear its head a few days later and day of fresh air and excess food was not helping.

"Can you go down and apologise to Belle for me?"

He nodded. "I will"

He returned a while later to find her curled up in bed. Avoiding switching on the light he changed quickly too, deciding he had no intention of taking use of the second single bed.

He woke in the middle of the night suddenly finding the limbs that had been entangled in his were gone. Scanning the room he could not see her until he saw a figure curled up in an armchair by the open window, his dressing gown bundled across her body.

"Camilla?" he asked, sleepily. "Why are you over there?"

"I couldn't sleep", she replied, quietly as he sat up properly.

"Come back to bed. You can't be warm there".

"I'll stay here for a little while. I'll only disturb you".

"Are you still upset?"

"No. Not really". She genuinely was not as upset as she had been earlier that night. She would have these moments of panic though and they would induce sleepless nights although it had been many a month since.

She watched as he got out of bed and walked across to her, taking a place on the floor.

"It's the middle of the night".

"I was just listening to the laughter downstairs". It might have been approaching 3 o'clock in the morning but the party was still in full swing downstairs, the chatter and music seeping out into the darkness of the night. She could see the three perpertrators of her upset sitting on the steps to the house, deep in conversation; had been studying them in fact. He saw them too.

"Do you know something?" he said, rummaging underneath his own dressing gown to find her hands. "They are not fit to kneel at your feet".

What he did not say though, was that if he had to, he would tell them that to their faces.


	13. Chapter 13

She felt as though she was on a precipice, hanging over a deadly ledge ready to fall into the vastness below. Moving her arm it fell, jolting her into wakefullness.

"Blasted single bed!" she thought, righting herself before gravity had its usual effect. Gently she tried to unwrap herself from a tangled sheet without disturbing him too much. The morning sun was almost overwhelming as it pierced through the curtains and she blinked; eyes still stinging from her tears the evening before as she tried to be as unobtrusive as possible to extracate herself.

All of a sudden, an arm tightened around her waist.

"You are not even asleep are you?!" she asked as she felt him laugh.

"No", a voice piped up as she felt him pull her back towards him, planting a kiss on her cheek.

"Good morning" he mumbled, eyes fighting the need to close again.

"Good morning" she replied, turning on her side, only serving to manage to twist the sheet further around herself. She rested her hand on his stomach.

"Are you feeling better?" he asked, pushing away strands of hair from her forehead.

She nodded. "One can't promise it will last though".

"You know I'm always here. Once that door is closed you can say what you need to say".

Before she could reply she felt his stomach rumble underneath her hand.

"Peter, that's revolting!"

"You don't seem to complain about my other bodily functions" he said, still half asleep.

"Don't" she said, about to laugh but feeling as equally embarrassed at the fact that she understood immediately what he meant. Still, she was quite pleased that she did not have to ask him to explain what he meant either. There were still some things that sailed right over her head though.

She could smell toast and as they sat up, together, to avoid any injuries or incidents, she saw the two silver trays and trolley at the foot of the bed.

"Mrs Lewis must have brought those in", she said, swinging her legs to the right of the bed. "I asked her to bring up breakfast instead of us going downstairs".

"I locked the door" he said abruptly, forehead creasing, wondering if he had imagined turning the key, securing it last night.

"Our housekeeper had a master key. Mrs Lewis would do too".

He thought for a second at her blase response. "What happened to privacy?"

She paused, realising she had suddenly passed it off as normality, creeping back to that time. "The staff would just come in and open the curtains and put your clothes out for the day. Sometimes the staff would dress people as well so your door was unlocked all the time and even if you did lock it, well..." she continued gesturing briefly towards the door. "It is all very odd to think of it" she concluded.

"Dress them?" he replied, pulling himself from the bed.

"Yes. I detested being dressed by the Ayah though", she replied. "She had the most horrid yellow fingernails and she would always end up scratching me so I would make sure I got out of bed half an hour before she came to me and would wash my own face and dress myself".

Investigating the trolley, she lifted one of the silver covers too to find a bowl of fruit scattered with sugar, two eggs in cups and cornflakes.

He walked over, feet sliding into his slippers as she passed him a cup.

"Thank you".

"I am so glad not to have to go downstairs for breakfast" she replied, dropping a sugar cube into her cup and stirring it gently.

"I will be so glad to have to stop wearing a suit to dinner", he said, sitting on the dressing table stool as she picked up the bowl of fruit, laughing as she sat next to him.

"I never understood why anyone would dress up to eat" he continued. "When I was a kid it was who got there first got most and if you were in your jammies you got Mum's hand across the back of your head, but you got your breakfast hot".

"I thought there was only 4 of you", she said, offering him the bowl of fruit as he picked out a piece of orange.

"Mum's brother lived with us for a while after my auntie died. 8 kids in all, 4 chairs, so if you weren't quick you sat on the floor. Adults and kids alike".

"That must have been wonderful", she replied. Chaos instead of order, smiles and laughter instead of small talk as the children were ignored, punished if they uttered a word or gesture out of place.

"It was wonderful if you were fast on your feet".

"We were never allowed to sit on the floor to eat; even if we had a picnic Mater insisted on chairs! It sound like you had life in your house" she concluded sadly, taking a slice of apple.

"It could get lively I'll give you that. You know Mum and Dad are not the most organised of people!"

"They are not sterile and cold, I do know that", she said, remembering that very first time she had met his parents. Petrified and wary when she had stepped over the threshold of the small two up two down, his mother had greeted her with kisses and such enthusiasm she had wondered what on earth he had been telling his mother about her.

"Well, tomorrow we will have breakfast sitting on the floor", he paused. "In fact, no, come and sit on the floor and talk to me".

He got up and sat down on the step leading up to the bed, back to the sturdy wooden frame cup of tea in one hand and the other stretched out towards her. She regarded him, rumpled from sleep, a crease mark on his cheek and a look on his face that always, every single time, made her resolve disappear away.

"When we have our children, I hope we are like your family and not mine" she said, sitting down.

He smiled. "We will be as we are. I can't say my childhood was perfect. Mum and Dad used to fight like cat and dog when I was small. Philip and I shared a bedroom for years and whenever they fought, we would crawl under my bed as it muffled the noise because I was further away from the door".

"With Mater and Pa it was seething silences and Mater just used to sulk at him. I know we barely have a crossed word but if I ever sulk with you, tell me".

"I will", he replied. "But we never fight so it will never happen".

He was always so optimistic; perpetually happy to be in her company that she was starting to believe that someone was looking down on her when she found him.

"I had always wondered what Mater would think of any child I might have. Whether she would be happy".

"Can I avoid answering that question?" he asked, both of them probably knowing the answer but not daring to vocalise it.

She smiled in response. "I hope I am different to her. I do wonder sometimes if she knew her own children were fading away from her" she said wistfully, thinking and hoping that when she had a child he or she would never have a single qualm to seek help from her.

"I hope there is only one way you will take after her".

"Go on?" she replied, a touch suspicious.

"That we end up with our house full".

"I am not having 6, Peter Noakes" she scolded and for a change entirely serious. "You can find another wife if you want 6".

"Then I will settle on one for keeping you", he replied seeing that determination dissolve as she leant over to kiss him. "So what are we meant to be be doing today?" she asked.

"Daniel's organised a cricket game this morning and I said I would join in. Do you mind?"

"Not at all".

"You will come and watch though?"

"Of course I will" she replied, quite looking forward to it.


	14. Chapter 14

As it approached lunchtime, Chummy sat propped in the sturdy roots of an old horse chestnut tree overlooking the makeshift cricket pitch below her. She had brought a book from the library, a tartan blanket, a flask of tea and a spare cup. She had been handed the latter by the same housemaid who Peter had opened the door for yesterday and, feeling much brighter than yesterday, resolved that there would be a requirement for teasing later.

"Any of that going spare old girl?" Isobel asked as she approached and sat on the edge of the blanket.

Chummy smiled and filled a cup.

"Are you alright?" Isobel asked, eyes full of concern, squeezing her arm. "Peter said you were not feeling too chipper last night".

"I'm fine" she replied. "You know me, bounce up and down like nobody's business. It had just been a long day".

"As long as that is all it was. I saw you with Louisa Capstick and those two awful friends of hers. I was going to dive in and perform an old rescue act but that husband of yours was far too swift for me".

"They were just..." she paused. "Curious".

'Curious' might not have been the word that she would use to describe them as Isobel raised an eyebrow.

"I couldn't say no when Mother invited them - Louisa's Pa is about to buy Mother's house in Eastbourne and well...we frankly need the money".

"Oh?" Chummy replied, worried for her friend,remembering those times at school that Isobel seemed to have everything a young girl could ever want.

"There's more to be me marrying Philip than I would care to confess to", she paused, taking a sip of tea. "Father left debts; far too many of them and Mother only has the house and the flat in London".

"Will it pay them off?"

"Only just. That's why she wants me to marry Philip. She will move into the house in Lowndes Square with us to help me with the children and she can sell the Chelsea flat to so she can live on the money. I can't not marry him otherwise we will be destitute in a few years".

"So who is paying for the wedding?" she asked, thinking that all that she had seen so far would have cost a pretty penny.

"Mother has bought the dress but the rest of it, well its mostly favours from Father's old friends" she replied. "Mother couldn't bare the shame of it, so Philip doesn't know".

"So when is Philip arriving?" Chummy asked, not entirely sure she was looking forward to seeing Philip Harbottle again. He had been one of Mater's targets and she had taken an instant dislike to the overwhelming presence that he created in a room with arrogance seeping from his very pores.

"Tonight; for the dinner and he is going to stay in the village. I know its meant to be awful bad luck for the groom to see the bride the night before the wedding but with us having the ceremony all the way out here, it was the best thing".

"Peter and I saw each other the night before. We went for supper. I never did us any harm" Chummy mused, remembering them huddled up in their usual spot in the dining rooms, anticipation bubbling through them as the clock ticked towards the 10 o'clock when he was expected to deliver her back to Nonnatus, knowing the next time he would see her would be standing in front of Father Williams and their friends.

"I am afraid I am going to ask a vulgar question" Isobel suddenly stated.

"Go on".

"You and Peter; living in the East End. Living like that - does your Pa help?"

"No", Chummy responded. "When we got married Mater told me in no uncertain terms that they would not be providing for me. That was my husband's job".

"They disowned you?"

"In not so many words. Mater still writes". Her letters however we becoming shorter and terse in the news they delivered. "We manage as we have to. Its all jolly freeing if I could say so".

"Really?" All her life, Isobel had known money. Money was freedom as you could choose to be wherever you like; if you wanted something you could have it. It meant she never had to think.

"We know what we have and how far it stretches and if Peter earns a little more from taking more night shifts it goes into the bank for future".

Isobel nodded. "I am just so very used to everything there for me. When we knew just how much debt Father had left us in; mother just crumbled. Philip is my only way to save her and I can see why she would want me to marry him".

"But do you want to marry him?" She recalled her husband's more than legitimate question as they lay on the pontoon just a day earlier.

"Philip has his ways but who doesn't? I might be happy".

It was not a yes or no and, in reality, she feared that Isobel could not answer just as she had failed to clarify the question with Peter. Chummy was hardly one to protest or give advice though. It has taken a while for her to become accustomed to being a wife, being loved in a way that seemed unconditional and she was not entirely sure that she was still quite 'there'. She could never say that when she married him that her life would have evolved as it has, slowly losing her fears, thinking of children and a tiny flat that did them just fine. Maybe Isobel would be happy. She would never want for anything after all but one thing that Chummy had learnt in these intervening years was that possessions never stilled your anxious heart. She had known however that sometimes the ease of money could force those worries to the back of a person's mind.

"You were so independant, Chummy. I remember that day I first met you; you coming to collect me from the Matron's office and taking me to the boarding house".

Chummy remembered it well, taking the petite, pretty twelve year old in her first year of boarding school under her wing. By that age, Chummy was an old hand having endured that life from a tortured six year old, packed onto a train, a small heart breaking as the nanny waved her goodbye. It always made her sad to see the same look mirrored in the face of any other child.

"I remember you had the loveliest dresses" she replied.

"I realise now that Father would go through money like water. That's where all my dresses came from," Isobel said before pausing with slight panic in her voice. "You did bring a dress for tomorrow's dinner?"

Chummy nodded. The dress her mother's dressmaker had made for her years ago which, in its style, was thankfully timeless and on digging it out, she did not have to let it out as much as she thought she might.

"Jewellery?"

Chummy shook her head. She knew her 21st birthday present was still sitting in the safe at the bank and it had not crossed her mind to bring it with her so unused to these gatherings.

"You must borrow some of mine. I insist".

Chummy nodded.

"I am so pleased you decided to come" Isobel said, reaching across to squeeze her friend's hand. "It's my last blast".

All of a sudden a cricket ball rolled sufficiently far that it hit Isobel's foot. They both saw Peter running in their direction to retrieve it.

"Are you to old girls gossiping or coming to play this blasted game or what?!" Chummy eyes widened at the blatent liberties he was taking. The sooner they returned to the East End the better.

"Sorry, _old man_!" Isobel said sarcastically before she picked up the ball and gave it to Peter.

"Well, are one of you two joining in?" he asked. "We need an extra man!"

Isobel looked over at Chummy

"You go on Belle. I had my fill of cricket back home with my brothers".

"Very well! Mother is having her lunchtime nap and she will slaughter me if she sees me running around, so one has to take ones chances when one can!" Peter took her hand to help her up and they walked down the hill as Chummy picked up the book she had been reading and settled back down.

As the afternoon wore on, Peter watched the game unfold before him. He had been deliberately placed way in the outfield as his fellow cricketers had realised the throwing arm he had developed playing catch on the streets of Poplar as a child had stayed wth him as an adult. It did give him a good view and out of the corner of his eye he could also see his wife as she read.

A body appeared by his side.

"Johnny Lucas" his person said, seeing a hand stretched out to him. "One thing I had to do was shake your hand! Ma Browne as your mother in law. A brave man if I ever saw one!"

Peter smiled and took the hand in a firm grip.

"Thankfully she barely takes notice!" he replied.

"I heard on the grapevine our Chummy was in a Nunnery!" Johnny commented as they stood side by side.

"She works with Nuns" Peter clarified.

Johnny nodded. "Just goes show the dangers of listening to women gossip! I swear, old chap, they spend most of their lives living out other peoples!"

From her place on the mound of earth, Chummy smiled, having been watching them, seeing the clear exchange. She had had a lovely afternoon; blissfully watching her husband with pride hitting sixes and taking a rather spectacular catch that left him in an unceremonious heap on the floor. She had been so pleased that she was so sufficiently far way that he could not hear her laughing.

She had forgotten where she was for a moment; last night seeming so far away that she was back to those occasional carefree Sundays with the girls from Nonnatus where they would run and laugh and soak up the sun.

Reflecting, last night seemed suddenly so disproportionate in her panic. She knew however that she could easily find herself in that place again.


	15. Chapter 15

"What are you doing out here?" she asked as she found him sitting on the low wall at the bottom of the steps to the house. The late afternoon had turned cold after the cricket match and she was chilly so how cold he was sitting out there she had best not guess.

"I was just thinking", he replied, shoed feet gently kicking the shale into a pile.

"Thinking can be the worst bally thing in the world sometimes you know! You know I do far too much of it!" she replied as she sat down next to him.

He nodded. He knew full well that sometimes, whilst he was more than sure in his abilities as a Police Officer and the confidence patrolling the streets of Poplar brought him, before that life had been distracted as his mind and body found resolution with the War and having to kill to survive and his heart felt as though it could settle at home. Sometimes he was not completely sure that he could reconcile it, but having her and the stability she brought helped him and the thought of her not being there chilled him to the bone.

"Camilla?" he asked, taking her hand in his.

"Yes?"

"When you were talking before; when you said home was with your brothers in India?"

"Yes?"

"Is London not your home?"

She thought for a second. India, Brighton, Somerset, Poplar. Where was home, really? The only one that felt like a place that she belonged was the latter.

"It was just a turn of phrase" she replied, having genuinely not thought of the reference more that the number of summers she would spend in India being turned out at cricket matches and fetes organised by the depleting English community out there. They were the times that she could only be absolutely sure that every member of the family had been there in unison. "Why?"

"Nothing" he mumbled, looking out over the grounds of the house. As much as he knew this weekend was very much the one and only time that he might ever experience this world she had inhabited once upon a time, it had started to secretly eat away at him; the very thought of losing her to another place or time; whether it was back to here or some other foreign land.

He looked up at her and pursued his lips. "I know you want to travel and I know you might not want to spend your life in Poplar".

They had had conversations about the Missions long before they were even engaged. He knew of her desires and dreams to go to Sierra Leone and she had known of his ambition to rise through the ranks of the Force. They were good, honest, worthy aspirations and whether the two fitted was not something they had thought about exploring that early in their romance. As time and dates passed and his ideas with regards to marriage had cemented themselves, the importance of the rest of their lives being in each other's company had overtaken them.

"I would still like to go to Africa, but only, only, if you come with me. As for this" she said, looking behind herself, "I like our life too much to go back".

"You could be so comfortable. You deserve this".

"I don't want this", she replied. "I am comfortable with what we have. I feel safe and I feel at peace for the first time in my life. You and Nonnatus did that. I am staying here for you, our family, Nonnatus. In that order. If we get the chance to go somewhere else, well, we can talk about it". She knew that if that day did arrive that she would hope desperately that he would say yes but if not, it would be a dream she would have to put to one side.

"I do wish we weren't here".

"Why?" she asked, worried that they had made the wrong decision in coming to this wedding.

"Because I want to kiss you and there are too many people around".

Chummy looked behind him at a group; standing talking on the far end of the veranda as she smiled at the whisper.

"Shall we go for a walk then?" she offered.

They wandered in silence back down to the pontoon they had found the day previously.

"One should have brought a coat" she said as they sat on the edge, rubbing her arms. "Here", he said, shifting closer to her wrapping his arms around her and balancing his chin on her shoulder. She turned and kissed him in thanks, the chill immediately dissipating.

"So what is this Philip chap like then?" he asked. The conversations he had had with numerous people during the cricket match were full of an oddly described 'anticipation' for the groom to arrive and he had started to speculate.

Chummy thought for a moment, wondering if she dare tell him that her mother had had plans for him to be her son in law once a long while ago. "He's everything you are not" she said, which was the perfect truth. "He likes to make an entrance, demanding attention", she concluded. "He was at all my brother's weddings and you would think he was the groom the way he acted. Mater thought he was a wonderful presence".

Peter just nodded. "She," Chummy paused reluctant but realising he perhaps ought to know. "She did try to push Philip and me together when I was 18".

"Oh?" Peter replied, not relishing the prospect on top of everything else of seeing a man who, once a long while ago, was one of his wife's suitors. Well, perhaps not suitor in the true sense of the word but it still did not particularly sit.

"I couldn't bear him" Chummy said. "He made my skin crawl. The thought of him even..." she shivered in a most exaggerated manner imagining for a moment the touch of his hand on her arm - or elsewhere come to that. "I imagine he would have been quite pleased to duck this particular arrow".

"Well, I was particularly pleased to be struck but it". He saw her give a little smile.

"I know she probably thought she was doing what she thought was right for me. But she never listened enough to understand that I wanted to do so much more than be a decoration". She paused. "Then again, I cannot say one is very decorative".

"Don't talk like that. I am the proudest man alive when we are together and I just hope one day you'll believe that".

"I do believe you, really. Sometimes my mind runs ahead away with me when I think about that time again". Peter knew that feeling well.

"When we go home on Monday, are any of them coming with us?" he asked.

"No".

"So what is the most important thing?"

She looked at him confused slightly at the question. "You and me; nothing more" he continued. "Whatever they say or do, will it affect you and me?"

He leant across and kissed as she relaxed against him, cheek to cheek.

"I sometimes think we are as bad as each other", she sighed. "But as long as we know that". She squeezed his hand as it lay on her knee.

Behind them they heard a car, scraping its way up the path behind them.

"We should go and get changed for dinner" she said,realising the afternoon was winding into evening as they were being rapidly clothed by dusk. "Belle's mother must have invited more people".

She did not, however as perhaps she should have done, recognise the Rolls Royce as it wound its way to the house.


	16. Chapter 16

Now she was sitting at a dressing table, her long black dress skirting the floor as she carefully opened a red velvet jewellery box, dressing for dinner as if it was the most normal thing in the world. Perhaps it had been once for her, he thought, evenings in country houses eating the finest food being waited upon hand and foot, frankly by the likes of him. She would never say it but it was true. He could see Lady Browne's point although he did not particularly like it.

She watched her husband through the mirror, sitting on the blanket box at the end of the bed, as he tied his shoelaces. She smiled at him. How wonderfully handsome yet so completely uncomfortable he looked. Part of her wished they were sitting at home on the floor in front of the fire, but it was odd that just a tiny part of her was looking forward to walking into that dining room downstairs on his arm. She had managed it once but has Isobel had told her when they returned from their walk that most of the 'troops' were arriving that evening as she had been handed a guest list for the dinner, so this would be an entirely different kettle of fish.

She felt quietly defiant and nervous in equal measure as they dressed. There would be people on that list that would be more than surprised to find her here and even more surprised that she had married full stop. A tremor had however taken over her hands.

He still felt uncomfortable in white tie and tails. So alien, so odd that an East end boy such as he should be dressed like this about to attend a dinner with people who claimed to be the countries' finest. He liked Isobel and the men he had met seemed to be fair enough types of chaps that did not rest in judgment. They were utter strangers and people with more money that he could ever hope to see in his lifetime but he was starting to believe had considerably less sense.

How anybody would choose on a daily basis to dress like this just to eat was beyond his comprehension. The stiff shirt collar was already digging into his neck and his shoes, polished within an inch of their very being, squealed with each step.

"Blast it!" That was the full extent of disagreeable language that ever came out of his wife's mouth. He looked up to find her struggling with the clasp of her necklace.

"Here let me", he said, stepping over the other side of the room behind her. He could see her hands were shaking with the signs of anxiety he had become to recognise in her. Easily setting the clasp he sat down beside her, his back to the gilt trimmed mirror. He took the single diamond on her necklace in his left hand, and let it glisten in the light. He had never seen the necklace before and it was almost as though she read his mind.

"It's not mine", she replied. "Belle was horrified I had no jewellery to bring with me. I had to agree to her lending it to me to stop her wittering".

He received a smile as he gently laid the diamond down, brushing the tips of his fingers over her skin .

"Ta" she replied. He couldn't help but smile as well. "Ta". Such a small, simple word.

"What are you laughing at?" she asked, catching the glint in his eye, turning to face him again.

"Just you", he replied. He knew he could say it and get away with it. Her height, her manner had given way to mockery in the past, but from him as it was never meant with anything but the utmost affection.

"Ta", he repeated. "If only your mother could see you now. ' Ta'. I'll turn you into a proper East End girl before long!"

When his wife had deliberately taken herself away from Society for want of a quieter and as she saw it better, life, she had shed the diamonds, the dresses and the airs of the Lady her mother had expected her to become. The last time he had seen a diamond like the one that she was wearing was his second day as a beat bobby, accidentally stumbling upon stolen goods after a landlady had asked him to search for her errant tenant.

She never normally wore jewellery; only the crucifix that had been safely stored at home and the gold band of her wedding ring. He could never afford the kind of jewellery that her father clearly could but one day he would buy her that engagement ring – three simple sapphires - he had seen but walked away with heavy shoulders when he realised he would never earn enough to see it on her finger. When someone had asked where her engagement ring was she had simply replied _"I don't think I need one to know I'm getting married"._

"You are already turning me into an East End girl", she replied, leaning across to give him a lingering kiss, letting his mouth drift down her jaw to bury itself in the spot under her ear that was far too much of a distraction. Right now he could have just about made her do anything he liked. It was funny how much of an effect he could have on her, just with the feel of his breath on her skin. The very thought of all of those potential sons in law that her mother had plans for doing that to her. She suppressed the turning of her stomach at the prospect.

A door being forcibly shut down the corridor made them both jump and she felt him reluctantly move away.

"Probably perfect timing" he muttered.

She sighed as she examined herself in the mirror.

"I look like I should be decked in fairy lights" she said.

"Well if that's the case then", he replied, smiling at her, "I am a penguin". With that she smiled and turned again, running her hand down his chest to rest on his stomach.

"You don't look like a penguin. You look more than handsome".

All he could breathe was the perfume she had sprayed a few moments earlier. He deliberately changed the subject.

"What time is dinner being served?" he asked, taking the hand that was resting on his stomach.

"Belle said that someone would knock when everything was ready".

The last thing she wanted to be doing was making small talk and she could see he was uncomfortable, shifting the collar around his neck.

"It's all so false and pretentious this place, trying to make conversation with people you cannot bear. I much prefer sitting on the floor of the sitting room with you eating fish and chips out of newspaper"

"Or developing your whelk dependence!" She pushed him in the chest.

"That's your fault. That first time you kissed me…"

"Whelk vinegar"

Camilla laughed at the memory, not for a second embarrassed. "You are an evil man, Peter William Noakes".

He became suddenly melancholy again. "I know I can't take you to the Dorchester…"

"I don't want the Dorchester. I hate the Dorchester with a passion. Even that first time we went the cinema, all I could think was 'this is perfect'. I felt like I belonged – for the first time, actually belonged somewhere - at Nonnatus House, in Poplar, with you. I feel normal, safe, not being looked at like the circus freak because I'm not tiny or pretty or elegant"

"I'd agree with you that you're not pretty. You are beautiful and if I have to repeat myself every single day for next 50 years to make you believe it, I will".

"50?"

"At least", he said leaning back across to give her a kiss on her cheek.

There was a knock on the door. Peter got up to answer it and vaguely to her left heard the report that pre dinner drinks were ready.

She stood, smoothing her dress down, breathing pointedly and resisting just asking him to take her home.

"But one thing first" he said. She saw him reach across and adjust the lace neckline of her dress, to cover her up a little further. Chummy was amused that he could be possessive of her enough to cover up no more than an inch of skin. Either that or he was, in her view, deeply deluded as to her attractiveness to the opposite sex.


	17. Chapter 17

The voice piercing its way through the wall of the study caused her body to rush with anxiety, ice cold sensations running up and down her skin, panic settling in her chest. Before she could turn away the study door opened and there was a face that she simply did not wish to see.

"Camilla, dear".

"What-ho, Mater" she replied, but it was forced and flat.

"I did not expect to you see you here", she replied.

"Isobel invited me" Chummy replied, realising she was gripping her husband's hand far too tightly.

"Just you?"

"No. Us"

She saw her mother bristle at the presence beside her.

"Constable" she nodded.

"Lady Browne", he replied, having never had any more than a few words exchanged with her before she ignored him entirely.

"I heard at the very last moment and I thought I would pay a short visit, just for the ceremony but Isobel's mother invited me for dinner. It has been years since your father and I came here".

Chummy nodded. She remembered that last time; sitting miserable by the lake, wishing and wanting to jump in and ruin her clothes and swim to her hearts content.

"I didn't realise you were in the country".

"It is very much a flying visit. Your god mother is ill".

"Oh!" Chummy replied, genuinely worried. Off all people in the world she adored her godmother but she still felt that slight touch of hurt that her mother was in England but had not even told her. It was this odd quandry that she had of wanting her mother's approval for her choices but as equally as petrified of her response.

"But as you well know, she does like to exaggerate. The doctor says she will be perfectly well in a week or two".

Chummy nodded.

"I wonder if I could have a few moments with you alone Camilla?"

Chummy turned to Peter and nodded as she walked back into the study as he walked in the opposite direction, having spied Johnny and his sister Caroline walking down the stairs behind them.

"Was that old Ma Browne?" Johnny asked him quietly. "It was" Peter replied as he felt Johnny's sister's arm slide into his. "I do think," she said, spotting a waiter armed with a silver tray and numerous champagne glasses "in the circumstances, that its time to start on the old le vin du diable_, _ don't you think?"

The three, with Caroline tucked between her brother and Peter, heard the study door shut.

On the opposite side of the wall, Chummy's heart had not stopped racing. The defiance she had felt whilst they were safe in their room had crept away as her mother swung around to face her.

"I have heard some decidedly ugly rumours about your behaviour whilst you have been here Camilla".

Chummy was genuinely confused, desperately trying to remember what, if anything, she had done these past two days could have been classed as inappropriate.

"Do I have to spell it out?"

"Yes"

"You were seen. You were seen by the river behaving inappropriately and then what do I find? The moment I arrive my worst fears were confirmed".

The penny suddenly dropped. The car they saw was her and there must have been other walkers that first night too whilst they were sitting by the river.

"He is my husband mother".

"Well you should not tolerate it".

She was not going to discuss her relationship with her husband with her mother; at least not that part of it, especially as, contrary as to what she was expecting, she rather enjoyed that side of their life together.

"Are you going to apologise for it?"

"No".

"Pardon?"

"He loves me mother".

"Your behaviour was indecent Camilla! Despite everything you are still my daughter and I still have to hear rumours that have frankly appalled your father and me. You may be living in that frightful place but you still have your name to consider".

"My name is Noakes now".

"And do I not know that? I sometimes thought you might see sense, get bored or realise you will have nothing for the rest of your life. I really have no idea what kind of hold he has over you to cause you to make these decisions".

Camilla did not have the strength to answer her. It was simple – they loved each other for what they were; it was straightforward, uncomplicated and easy to be in his company. Perhaps some while ago, in her naivety, she had not realised that her budding friendship with him would cause such difficulty because he treated her so well. Surely a mother should be more concerned that her daughter was treated well?

"Once again I struggle with you. I barely hear a sentence from you or at least one I could begin to understand".

There was knock on the door and Isobel's head popped around.

"Philip and his parents have arrived!"

Lady Browne walked out of the room before her daughter, disappearing with Isobel. Chummy sighed staring at the floor before she felt a hand slide around her waist.

"I do love you, you know".

"I know you do".

"What did she want you so urgently for?"

"I'll tell you after dinner".

It was three hours later and from pre-dinner drinks to sweet she had barely said a word to a soul apart from Peter and to a young girl - far younger than Chummy - who she had found out was the new wife of a distant cousin who seemed just as out of place as she did. Now they had been separated, the men to a smoky study and the ladies to a sitting room facing the vast courtyard at the back of the house.

"You know she seems a pleasant enough gel!" Philip's voice boomed across the room, blowing cigar smoke and nursing a crystal glass in his hand. Peter, from the corner where he was sitting with Johnny and Daniel's brother Harry, was not quite sure what to make of this person, who just seemed so opposite to Isobel it was incredible.

"He always commanded a room" Harry said, handing Peter a glass. "Even at Eton he would expect us all to fall into one blasted line after him like his battalion".

"I imagine Belle will be expected to do that too!" Johnny continued. "He's a nice enough chap when the mood takes but if you stand in his way". He blew a quiet whistle. "You can take pleasure in regretting it for the rest of your natural!"

"When he was talking to her before, it was just like he was commanding a child" Peter replied, having watch with some interest the interactions between the various parties at the table. His wife was quiet, distracted again, and the reassuring squeezes of her knee he had tried to surruptiously give her had seemed to only provide seconds of reassurance.

They could not help but hear the comments regarding Isobel as Philip's voice and the trail of smoke cast its way across the room. "One imagines she will look rather pretty on my arm for the sake of the old reputation and young enough to knock out the next generation!" he heard as braying laughter wore away at him.

"That", Johnny said, gestuing with his glass at the other side of the room, "is where this world and the real world are so vastly different, my friend and that is why he much prefers his 'visits'!"

Harry nearly choked on the sip of Whiskey he was imbibing. "You've heard that jolly old rumour as well then!"

Peter was confused.

"You are in the East End, correct?" Harry asked.

"Yes"

"Have you heard of the the Albany Supper Club?"

Peter knew it well. A collection of rooms in a dank basement where there was gambling and girls to your heart's content. His only contact had been the drunken arrests, the drugs raids and the 'ladies' plying their trade as its patrons spilled out into the streets.

"I know it".

"Well keep your eyes and ears out for our friend there. I am relatively sure I heard a rumour he had been arrested at least once from there".

"Mind you" Harry said. "I suppose the greasy palm works well from his point of view". Peter knew that there were some people in the world who would happily try to bribe a Police Officer and plenty of Police Officers who would accept. He, however, had not and would not. His job was to keep criminals off the streets of Poplar, not to become one.

"I imagine it could be quite the jape to let him know we had a Policemen in our midst!" Johnny joked. Peter and Philip had only been briefly introduced by Isobel as she paraded around the room with her fiance and he had then borne witness to the superciliousness that travelled with him.

Chummy sat, much like her husband, in an armchair in the corner of the room, in her hand a barely touched glass of champagne as her mother held court on the opposite side of the room.

Caroline came and sat next to her.

"Are you quite alright there?"

Chummy nodded unconvincingly. "She is full of the joys of your brothers", Caroline said, nodding to where her mother and Chummy's mother were deep in conversation.

"I can imagine". Lady Browne had never been more fulfilled when at a social occasions with one or more of her strapping six foot sons beside her and her only daughter knew it.

"I have to say I do like your husband", Caroline said, before hesitating, Louisa Capstick having expressed an unhealthy interest to Caroline too. "I meant he is so straightforward and well, unpretentious. Mind you I do suppose it comes from..." Now she did stop. "My mouth always runs away from me sometimes", Caroline concluded quickly, tapping Chummy gently on the hand.

"Its quite alright. I knew what you meant".

"Belle tells me you are working as a Nurse".

Chummy nodded.

"I think the last time we saw each other was at Emma Henderson's wedding, wasn't it? Just before you started training".

"It was", Chummy replied. Another painful experience that she cared not to recall.

"I've always wondered what it might be like to work but I suppose I have never needed to", she said as Chummy realised she had just summed up what might have been her life. It was odd too that there was simply no realisation that a comment of that nature could have been offensive to some. "Mother and Father always saw to things. Still do see to things for us all". Chummy could sense a sadness in those last few words.

As she sat though, something she had really realised long ago sprung to mind. She did not belong here. Never had; never would. At her first chance, glancing at the clock that was approaching 11, she would make her excuses.

Away in the other room, Peter was pouring three more glasses of Whiskey. He had stopped drinking but his companions for the evening, now accompanied by Daniel were thoroughly enjoying the hospitality. He replaced the top on the decanter when he felt a hand land heavily on his shoulder.

"I hear, my man, you are Lady B's son in law, yes?"

Peter turned to see Philip standing beside him

"Yes", he replied, holding out a hand, "Camilla's husband". He saw the cigar transfer from his hand to between Philip's teeth.

"Good to meet you", Philip replied. "I had always wondered when Lady B might succeed in her endeavours! Tell me, what takes up your time? Stock exchange? Property?"

Peter stopped a smile, remembering his conversation with Johnny and Harry. "I'm a Police Officer in the east end of London".

"A police...?", Philip said hesitantly, before a smile crossed his face. "Excellent prank my man, even if it tripped me up!"

"No, I am" Peter replied, trying to put on his best convincing voice.

"Well in that case, I do believe we can have a conversation or two! I am just on my way for a tour of the wine cellar. You'll join?"

Peter nodded. It might be interesting after all.


	18. Chapter 18

Chummy sunk into the depths of the bath water and closed her eyes breathing in the peace and tranquility of the bathroom and the lavender bubbles. She had made her excuses to Isobel and sneaked away, under the pretense of tiredness from the ridiculous hours she had been working. She had not been the first to retire so she felt less guilty as they exchanged kisses and she saw Isobel's nervous smile ahead of the wedding tomorrow.

She was tired. It was true to an extent, with night calls and clinics, but this was more exhaustion of mind. She closed her eyes and breathed steadily feeling the warmth relax her tense muscles as her eyes drifted closed.

A short while later she woke quickly realising the bath was starting to become cold. She had no idea how long she had been asleep but could still hear the music downstairs and from her vantage point she could see he had not returned to their room. She pulled herself from the water, wrapping her body in one on the plush towels and whilst she did not feel mightly better, the all consuming warmth she had created struck an edge off the uneasiness that had wound itself up inside her.

She pulled a pale pink nightdress from the drawer, her eyes still heavy; dried and dressed for bed.

A while later she felt something brush her arm. He had found her asleep on the covers, having coincidentally seen the stream of women leave the other room as he returned from the bathroom and seeing her not amongst them, deciding it was also his time to depart. She woke at the contact, realising she had fallen asleep again.

"What time is it?" she asked.

"Almost one" he replied, having taken off his jacket and made an attempt at the bow tie as she turned to lie on her back. "Philip was offering most of the wine cellar up, so I decided to disappear".

She raised an eyebrow. "Not one drop I promise" as he leaned down to kiss her to prove his point, only a trace of Whiskey being evident.

"Here" she said, sitting up releasing him from the strangling tie around his neck as for the first time in several hours, he breathed freely.

"I never realised 2 days of taking it easy, eating and drinking could make me so tired", he said, starting to unbutton his shirt. "What time do we have to be up tomorrow?"

"Ten" she replied, seeing him walk across the room to find a coat hanger.

"Good" he replied. "I asked Mrs Lewis if we could have breakfast up here again so there'll be no rush. I hope you don't mind?"

"Wonderful idea".

She watched him through heavy eyes carefully undressing, knowing that the suit had to be returned to wherever she had hired it from.

"How was everything down there?" she asked tentatively, propping herself up on the pillows.

"Interesting. I had a long conversation with Philip".

"And?"

"It was eye opening", he replied. "I learnt a few things about him".

"The supper club?"

Peter stopped as he was about to hang up his jacket, turning around to her. "How did you know about that?"

"Before today I hadn't seen Philip in years, or so I thought. I couldnt remember what he looked like and then when I saw him...Do you remember me telling you I had to deliver a baby in a brothel?"

It was very early on in their relationship she had told him of that encounter and he had told her that if she, or any of the others were called there again that they had - in no uncertain terms - to ensure they had a Police Officer with them. The delivery had stuck in her mind as he seemed so concerned for her welfare so when she saw Philip, it immediately sprung to mind if only for her husband's worry.

"When I walked in there was a man coming down the stairs. He looked at me as though he knew me but I couldn't place him. That was Philip. Being married shan't stop him visiting there again".

"I'll never do that to you, you know" he said, walking across to the bed, dressed only in undershorts, vest and open shirt.

"Do what?"

"Go to those places or have an affair", he said sitting down.

"I've got no say in it", she replied bluntly. It had been commonplace in this circles to hear rumours of affairs and as a woman she would have no recourse against her husband if he decided to look elsewhere. Women, wherever they were, whether Poplar or Chelsea were oddly equal when it came to their subordinate place and men everywhere knew it. She had struggled with how she was perceived by men in particular; never petite, towering over most of them but she had realised in time, with Peter, it was more a matter of strength of character than height of body to be entirely unconcerned. She knew her husband would not stamp on her thoughts or desires like some and she truly felt that when they were tucked away, at home, all was right with the world.

"If you do, I just have to accept it and wonder what I did wrong to force you away".

"No you don't". The thought of anybody but her was something he could not describe. There had to be a reason for her to arrive in his life as she had done almost a year ago now and the resolution he had come to was he knew he would and could appreciate what he had.

"Pa never had any mistresses; or if he did he kept it so quiet. Everything they have and do is easily thrown away and replaced. Wives included".

"He did say I was to overlook him if I saw in the East End again", Peter admitted, recalling the conversation and the comment that he took as a threat.

"Told you or asked you?" she asked as he took off his shirt, wary and knowing of these people and the lengths that they would go to in the name of money.

"He said he would make it worth my while. He was telling me how much you would love all the things that I could buy you with the money".

"Just goes to show how appalling a wife I would be then as I would be handing you them back" she replied sternly, confident in talking to him and being straight to the point rather than worrying if he might find offence. It was the strangest thing to come to terms with that she could always allow herself to express an opinion around him.

"You're not appalling, " he responded, lying down on the covers next to her.

"If I was married to him I would be or rather he would think I was if he could not pat me on the head and pacify me with a necklace".

"Well", he replied, as she felt a kiss to the back of the hand that he had taken up. "You aren't and there are no complaints from here".

"I sometimes wonder what would have happened if Mater had her way". Chummy had wondered about Isobel's comment that she might just have been happy. Would that have applied to her too? It was something that he did not want to think about and neither did she.

"Speaking of which what did she want you for so urgently?" he asked.

"My disgraceful behaviour whilst we have been here".

"I didn't realise there was more than us in our room!" he joked, making himself comfortable.

Normally she would have laughed, but she was not in the mood when it came to Mater.

"By the river" she said sadly.

He realised what she was saying. "That was me, not you. You said no".

"Guilt by association".

"You know I wish I could just take it all away".

"I do and I know I've complained but coming back here has helped" she said.

"I see how free I am now"


	19. Chapter 19

She crept silently down the long staircase having slithered out of bed to avoid waking him. She had woken abruptly, shooting pains in her neck and shoulders aching from the awkwardness of two grown adults sharing a single bed. He was breathing gently beside her, an arm loosely across her hip and she found it easy to slide away out of the way with minimum of fuss.

It was only a glass of water she was seeking but as she wandered past the room that had been, as far as she could remember, Daniel and Harry's father's study she could hear someone crying.

Not quite being able to place the sound she walked further down into one of the sun rooms where she saw Isobel, shrouded in moonlight in one of the chairs, huddled, curled up in a wicker chair.

"Belle?" she whispered quietly, gently pushing open the door that had been held ajar.

"Hello", Isobel responded, not feeling the want to wipe away the tears that had been drifting down her cheeks.

Chummy sat next to her, her friend noticing the rip in the sleeve of her dressing gown.

"Is that your's?!" Isobel remarked, monotonous voice cloudy from tears, seeing the green tartan check haphazardly tied at the waist.

"No", Chummy replied, smiling. "It's Peter's. It's much warmer than my paper thin one. He tells me off for my thievery". She failed to tell her it smelt of Brylcreem and Palmolive and when he was nights she would sit buried in it in the armchair listening to the radio. It sounded silly and soppy but if he was not there, it made her feel safe. She did not even confess it to him though; a secret kept to herself.

He did not complain though or reveal when he too had worn it to find she had spilt a drop too much of her perfume on the sleeve.

"What are you doing down here old girl?" Chummy said having taken the seat next to her, wrapping the dressing gown around her legs. "It would be simply desperate to have the bride with suitcases under her eyes!"

"I was just thinking" Isobel said. "Thinking about my life. What I've done". She paused. "We had such wonderful times at school didn't we? Running around those corridors in the dead of night trying not to get caught by the House Mistress!"

"I detested the place and loved it all in one breath", Chummy mused, still, years later, at odds with that time she spent at boarding school, still not truly belonging either at home or abroad.

"But we did enjoy it most of the time didn't we? Trying to see if the gardener's boy would smile at us".

"He would smile at you" Chummy noted, remembering sitting on the steps of the boarding house watching the gardener tend to the rows and rows of flowers that adorned the edges of the lawn, breathing in the unmistakable smell of freshly mown grass. She was never one to attract the eye of the gardener's boy. That was _always_ Isobel.

"What was his name?"

"Thomas" Chummy replied. "He always had the most filthy fingernails!"

"He was the gardener's boy!"

"Do you remember the Matron's face when she found Grace Lyttelton behind that little cottage at the bottom of the gardens with him?" Chummy asked, still aghast at her friend's audacity at even being seen to have a conversation with him, knowing what fate could await her whether at the hand of Thomas or the cane of Matron.

"I remember the punishment_. "That child's been borne of the Devil'"_ Isobel responded, employing the slow Irish drawl of Matron Cleary that made Chummy shiver at the memory of the elderly lady who would stalk the corridors, a cane tucked into the belt of her cardigan. Chummy remembered the whistle and crack of Matron's cane on her hand and it never made her flinch.

"Well she did throw her knick-knacks out of the window at him too!" Chummy remembered the desperate search for them the next day amongst the holly bushes that lined the walls of the boarding house and the crunch of the Matron's shoes on the path as four guilty girls realised they had been caught, separated for interrogation and punishment for their misdeeds.

"Oh my yes!" Isobel replied, having only heard of these events third hand after she had been confined to the Sanitorium with influenza just a few days before. "Those regulation knickers! By the time we were 15 we were bursting out of them. The horror at having to run around in gymnastics in them".

"We did get up to all kinds though didn't we?" Isobel repeated, wanting desperately for Chummy to remember those times, remember those moments that Isobel perceived as freedom with no parents and no thoughts of their future. "The amount of chocolate we consumed under our bedspreads at lights out!"

"and the gin bottle!" Chummy suddenly said, recalling her first taste of it and tipping the small glass down the sink.

Isobel's eyes widened. She had forgotten about that gin bottle, hidden away in the back of the spare wardrobe in the dormitory, buried under everybody else's possessions that they could not fit in their tiny bedside cabinets.

"The way we had that blasted inspection, I am still amazed it was never found".

They both remembered the twice weekly inspections with horror having your most personal possessions picked over; having to empty their bedside cabinets out so they could be searched for contraband. Chocolate, perfume, any jewellery than their simple watches and gold stud earrings and the fear that the House Mistress would find your diary. Even their letters were read before they saw them.

"Do you remember we even had to hide our books?" Chummy said, remembering having a copy of The Grapes of Wrath snatched from her hands by the House Mistress. She had been told it was for her own good but had never particularly understood why.

_"Its American, you foolish girl! Do you imagine what the Matron will do if she sees it? You cannot tell me you are not aware of her thoughts on Americans"._

When the story had been recounted in the dormitory that night, they had giggled at their increasingly wild stories of how Matron Cleary came to feel so strongly about their American cousins.

"What about Mrs Stopes' books?" Isobel laughed. "One doesn't think that Matron realised that there was any other respectable author than Jane Austen!"

"That loose floorboard underneath Arie's bed was the most perfect hiding place!" Someone had brought that book in. They were curious 15 year old girls, knowing their fate was husbands and children and a life of dinner parties and dresses, that any spark on their landscape of a different life held an inordinate amount of interest. It was perhaps then, seeing the fate before her, that Chummy had sewn the seeds of something else to engage with.

"I do remember wondering if anything in it was really true" Isobel said. "If men and woman really did those things to each other". The sadness in her voice was palpable. "What about that lesson we had on virtue from Mrs Wallis?"

The rows of girls had sat up straight, cross legged in the Assembly Hall, unaware of their purpose of being summoned to that room to sit avoiding splinters from the wooden floor as the dried up old trout lectured on about chastity, the arteries in her neck prominent as she seemed to whip up into tirade telling them that girls who were not virtuous would burn and how she would expect every girl seated before her to be honest and worthy for their husbands.

"I don't remember understanding most of it", Chummy mused, so deprived of affection wondering then if she might never feel the touch of a lover's hand or a kiss.

"I still don't understand most of it" Isobel said sadly. "32 and I still do not understand it".


	20. Chapter 20

"Did you want to marry Peter?" she asked. "I mean _really_ want to marry him? Like your life would end if you didn't?"

Chummy thought immediately how dramatic and romanticised it sounded to fall from her friend's mouth that way and was not quite sure how to reply. It almost sounded naïve and Chummy surprised herself that she could recognise the innocence in which the question was asked.

She had wanted to marry him, even when she heard the words 'I don't want you to' fall from her lips when she had heard him talk of his plans. The strength of feeling she had towards him could lend itself to that emotion even though she knew that life would still stroll on from day to day. She had never quite thought her life could end if he went away, but now the thought had been placed, she could perhaps agree with it. Her heart would certainly be broken.

"I suppose one could say, yes", she replied. "Although one doesn't think that the Bard intended Juliet to be ironing shirts and scrubbing floors".

"Is he nice to you?" Isobel asked, turning properly to face her. She had noticed that he smiled at her, opened doors for her and there was that look in his eyes that Isobel could not place, every single time he saw her making her wonder if someone could ever look at her like that. Whether Philip might look at her like that one day.

"Well he doesn't shout and he helps me and…well, yes, he is nice to me" she concluded. She could probably be particularly verbose if the mood took her, but she felt the last thing this bride wished to hear was how wonderful her friend's marriage was in the face of her own doubt.

"Mother loves the prospect of having Philip has her son in law. I really cannot tell whether he prefers my company or hers. When he is with me it is as though he sees me there, but does not_ see_ me. Do you understand?"

It was a feeling Chummy knew well, except those that did not _see _her were her family not her husband.

"Belle, do you really, truly think you have no choice? I know there's the problem of money, but the world does not stop revolving because you are not sitting a leather armchair".

"I do know that Chummy, but I suppose one becomes used to just _having_ and if I don't marry him then Lord knows where we will live and Mother would be so ashamed. Philip has always been polite to me" she concluded as though politeness was reason for love.

"Peter has always been polite to me but him holding a door open for me and not cursing like a navvy doesn't make our marriage".

"I know", she replied. "But it is just so overwhelming what will happen if I don't. Mother will want nothing to do with me and I have no talent for anything. I cannot even type a letter to take a job".

"You can learn Belle".

Isobel shook her head. "No, it is far too late for me. The only thing I can learn to be now is his wife. Is it easy to learn?"

Chummy did not know what to say for a moment. She was not entirely sure that you could educate in 'being married' or with only a fledgling four month marriage to her name that she should be the one pontificating.

"I am learning every day. I forget to dust the mantelpiece and the gas fire positively detests me. I have to wait to ask Peter to put it on as I can never get the bothersome thing to light so the flat is always freezing", she recalled, have to wait for him like a silly child because the thing simply would not ignite for her.

"I haven't even got that to get wrong. I know we are a dying breed with servants and the like, but Lowndes Square has more staff than you could think of. I wish I could worry about dusty mantelpieces. I can solve dusty mantelpieces".

"Whatever you do Belle, make sure your heart is in it. Peter gives his best to me. That's all I can ask for. He doesn't choose my dresses or my opinions for me".

"Philip's opinion's will be my opinions. He will see to that I am sure. He could not even propose to me", she added sadly, remembering the time he sidled up to her as she stood by the window after one of her Mother's suppers.

_"__I say, Issy dear, I fear we are to be walking down the old aisle shortly if our mothers have their way"_

"He didn't ask you?"

"No" Isobel replied_. _"How did Peter propose to you?"

Chummy smiled at the memory. "We were sitting by the fire in his parent's parlour listening to the radio with the dog snoring away in accompaniment".

_"__So are you going to marry me then?"_

_"__Your Ma said she told you when you got round to it that you had to propose to me properly"._

_"__So are you then?"_

_"__I suppose so"._

"When you said 'yes' did he kiss you?" she asked.

'And more besides' shot through her mind . "Yes" Chummy replied simply instead.

"The first time I am likely to kiss him will be when I am already his wife. Mother has never left us alone together".

"Really?"

She knew that she and Peter had been slow off the mark, well that she had kept him at arms length for longer than she had felt his patience would last, but she could certainly say they made up for it in those five weeks before her wedding, but to walk down the aisle with a man you were meant to be building your life with and not even having shared a kiss?

"I think she would rather she marry him than me! Every time he visits, she monopolises him. I would like to take a walk with him without her insisting she accompany us".

"Can't you slip out? Even just for a few moments?"

"I live with her".

"I lived with Nuns!" Chummy exclaimed, remembering the strict curfew that had been imposed on those nights they would take supper or go the cinema. _Always the early showing_. She had thought how odd it was that the door to Nonnatus saw many a footfall day and night but on those nights where they were free, all its younger residents were expected to be 'home' at ten o'clock and not a minute afterwards.

"I don't know whether Mother thinks he is going to ravage me", Isobel said.

"Ravaging can be quite amusing you know", Chummy replied surprised not to feel a blush creeping over her cheeks.

"Camilla Browne! I am appalled" Isobel replied, for the first time that night feeling real joy.

"But he tells you he loves you?"

Chummy nodded. In the beginning she wondered why and there had been times in their marriage that she had doubted his patience with her, but that was the one thing that he always did no matter how silly she felt she was being or how hesitant she had been around his company.

"Belle you said yourself you might be happy. He might be different in private" she offered, wondering herself if that arrogant, self centred appearance was a facade. She was probably entirely wrong and it only served to make her more thankful that her mother's efforts had been in vain.

"I wonder if I had a child quickly he would leave me alone", she said. "I could have a child and" she paused. "Oh! Everything is wrong! We barely speak alone and he has shown no other interest in me".

"You are nervous".

"I'm trapped. Where you nervous about marrying Peter?"

"Yes, I was"

"Nervous enough to run away?"

"No. I have to admit that. It was wonderful anticipation". She stopped realising what Isobel was saying. "Belle, you are not thinking of running off?"

"It would be quite the thing for Philip Harbottle to be abandoned at the altar!" Watery tears came at her attempt at what was only a vain joke.

"If he strays away from me, I cannot stop it" she spluttered. "I can't marry him can I? I know Mother wants it and Philip seems to think it's a good idea, but I will be miserable won't I?"

"I can't answer that for you Belle, I really can't. I can't tell you not to marry him".

Isobel nodded sadly. It felt as though she was waiting execution; stepping blindly to the guillotine waiting for the blade to fall slicing through her bones and sinews. The fall of that weighted blade slow and steadily as each hour persisted to when she would kneel at the altar instead of the block._  
_

"Go up to bed, try and sleep Belle", Chummy pleaded. "The night always seems to make these things worse. I've always thought it was the quiet that caused it".

When they had separated, Chummy not convinced she had been much assistance at all. She returned to their room, tiptoeing in although he was still asleep. She regarded him, sleeping now like a starfish, spread out as much as he could in the small space.

She decided there was no way on earth she would be getting back into that bed and retired to the other one just five yards away and pulled to covers around her neck.

She closed her eyes, fingertips finding the crucifix that lay around her neck, elevating a prayer for this strength that He had somehow found deep within her to take her to this life.


	21. Chapter 21

The next morning he woke to find himself alone and her pottering around on the opposite side of the room, the covers on the other bed pulled back.

"You didn't come back in with me last night" he said, through bleary eyes, seeing her pouring tea.

"and 'Good Morning' to you too" she joked.

"Sorry Camilla. Good Morning", he replied, brushing his palm over his face.

"I'll tell you why, "she paused. "When you decide to sleep neatly one might consider sharing that bed again!"

"My wife is so disrespectful to me", he muttered, swinging his legs out of the bed. "I really ought to think how I should address that" he continued walking across to her, sliding his arms completely around her waist. She knew he was teasing her; she could differentiate that now between good hearted playfulness and reproach for her actions. He kissed her on the cheek.

"Sit down, I will do that".

She took her lead from yesterday and sat on the step up to the single bed where he had spent the night.

She received a cup of tea to her hand and balancing the other cup; he sat down gingerly as she shifted trying to cover her knees with the short nightdress.

"Camilla, I was looking then, stop it".

She suppressed a laugh and let the hem be.

"So what happened last night?" he asked.

"I went to get a drink and Belle was downstairs. She was so upset! She was talking of not marrying him. Of running off ".

"Really?" he replied, quite shocked. "I mean, I know you said about her Mother's money, but look at us. We are better off than most in Poplar but we will never be rolling in it".

"Remember you said to me when we came here it was a different world?" she asked taking his hand. He nodded in response.

"It is a different world. A different time. When I was growing up, one had so many expectations placed upon me. I would go to Roedean, I would find a husband, get married at St Margaret's and provide children. I would be expected to host dinner parties and paint a smile on my face no matter how miserable or desperate I felt. That would be my life and I would have little say in it. Those expectations are the same for Belle. Mater wanted me married well and that was that and I would be set off on that path and never be able to step off it unless I wanted a divorce to my name. I would have no Nonnatus, no cycling around in the dead of night and no you".

"I know she thinks very little of me, but nothing and nobody will make me leave you".

"I know that", she paused. "It's odd. I would always wonder when I would see clarity of mind. In an obtuse way Mater forcing me to see and do what she wanted, has fortified that I was right all along. See Belle like this has made me realise how lucky I am. I might have had my moments, but even when you are a doddering old duffer I will still be in Poplar with you".

"Doddering old!?..." he remarked, eyebrows raising. "I will remember that when you want your wheelchair pushing!" He took a sip of tea.

"What did you say to Philip last night when he was talking about the supper club?"

"I told him I would be arresting him if I saw his face in there" Peter said bluntly, remembering the look that passed across Philip's face; as though he had just uttered the most uproarious jape that man ever invented.

"And?"

"He offered me double what he had before".

"And?" she asked again, with a slight level of anticipation in her voice, wanting, praying that he would say what he subsequently did.

"I told him I would be arresting him if I saw his face in there" he repeated. "That was when he suggested draining the wine cellar".

Chummy smiled. She liked the fact that he had told Philip precisely where he could put himself. She doubted very much that there was a quieter softer side to this man she had escaped. Nobody in his life, she imagined had ever said 'no' to him and he knew it.

"Philip, well, most of the men here, think that money is the key to having everything you want. You can buy possessions and people with enough. They think they are above the law".

Peter just shook his head. "I have no qualms about putting him in a cell. Even if he is your friend".

"I'd retract that if one was you. Philip is not my friend. Acquaintance at best".

"Do you think she will run?" he asked. It had crossed his mind that Camilla could have called off their wedding too though but for all different reasons than Isobel. He did not know and she had not confessed to her tearful thoughts of taking the veil, tears Jenny had kept so very close to her heart. Clearly, Isobel felt somewhat the same and no matter how much he thought Philip Harbottle was nothing more than a crook with a bank account, he had been complimentary about his future bride whilst they were examining the wine cellar.

"I understand why she would. I can't describe it, not properly, how it feels to be told you have no say, no choice". She knew the terror of being trapped, too frightened to speak up but she had seen the other side too, embracing the freedom of a marriage that allowed her to speak, to think and be what she wanted to be. "Its like you are suddenly hollow inside".

He took her hand, again twisting her wedding ring around her finger. It still unnerved her slightly when he was contemplative. The connection with her mother was so tenuous and limp that one of these days, whilst she may hope to understand and hope to be understood as time passed, she knew how close Isobel and her mother were. For Chummy, a much pain that it had caused her in her decisions, she knew Isobel's heart must have been shattering at this impossible situation.

"Does she have no-one else to go to, nowhere else?" His wife had had Nonnatus and the Sisters to run to, but feared that would not be the same for her friend.

Chummy shook her head. "That's what makes it so terrible. The only place she had to run to is one she fears the most. She asked me so much about you and it made me feel awful for being happy. Is that a terrible thing?"

"No", he replied. "It just goes to show you have a heart".

She nodded, still apprehensive. She had faced that ledge and had taken flight far too many years ago. "She has to make her choice. I am so glad I made mine", she smiled, leaning to kiss him.

"Are we supposed to be walking to the church?" he said.

"Yes. It will be such a parade, but there was no money for cars. Belle's mother just said that they told people they thought it would be a 'thing'. A quirk to make people remember the wedding. We are in a pickle if it rains" she concluded as he glanced at the clock on the wall.

"It's nearly 10. We ought to think about getting ready".


	22. Chapter 22

"So where is he?"

Chummy knew immediately who she was referring to.

"_Peter_", she said deliberately, "is somewhere with Daniel". He had been commandeered by him as they had walked along the corridor from their room, dressed and ready to walk to the Church and she did not actually know the reason for his spiriting away of her husband. The warmth and strength of his hand gone though, she suddenly felt none too sprightly and she descended the stairs towards the door of the house to seek fresh air in the hope that it would settle the sickness that was building in her stomach. Instead she found her mother standing on the steps to the house. She had little choice but to join her as a wave of nausea engulfed her again.

"So how are you and the Sisters?" her mother asked, still not having caught her eye as her daughter arrived at her side.

"The Sisters are well, and I", she paused, not quite sure what words to use. She wanted to say 'walking on air' but refrained. Even the word 'wonderful' was too excessive in this company.

"I am well too, Mater". She still felt as though something was knotting her stomach but if her mother was talking of her well-being in general terms, then she could think of numerous words to describe herself, but they all seemed far too effusive.

"Isobel looks beautiful. Such a pretty, delicate girl" her mother said, having already seen the bride who might have looked angelic, Chummy was sure she would be shaking inside. "It will be such a lovely wedding. Isobel will do her mother proud".

Chummy breathed at the thinly disguised remark at her, remembering her mother's face as she and Peter turned at the altar at the one person that was not smiling in that small congregation. She had hoped it was only perhaps the fact that he the way he had kissed his bride, holding her face gently in both hands and lingering enough to hear a 'now, now' from Fred and the resultant laughter, that had caused that reaction.

Her mother turned around to face her for the first time.

"And could he not have bought you a new dress?" Lady Browne asked, seeing her daughter clad in her own wedding suit underneath a pale grey coat.

"Why?" she replied. "It is a waste to wear it once and leave it in the back of the wardrobe". Chummy knew how much that dress had cost her mother and she had no intention of letting it gather dust or moths.

"Well I for one I am pleased then that nobody here came to your wedding. If they were to see you now…." Her mother shook her head and adjusted the collar of her royal blue suit.

As she struggled to find her words again, Chummy watched a solitary bird skirt its way across the sky, landing with a bounce on the bare bones of a lime tree. _"Just to fly once"_, she thought_. "Just to soar over the rooftops like you do"._ That was one of the reasons she adored those attic rooms that Peter lodged in before they were married. She could see the rooftops of Poplar; see the cranes in the docks and the birds as they skipped and soared. It was as though she was spiralling up into the heavens, minute after minute spent sitting on the ledge of that tiny window, entirely lost until she felt his lips on her neck.

"Your father and I have considered your position" her mother announced suddenly.

Immediately Chummy feared what was to come. She dare not think of the discussions her mother and father must have had when the news had been delivered on her mother's return to Madeira after the wedding. Chummy had no idea how her father might react but his absence from the ceremony should have been more than an indication of his feelings on the matter. She knew her mother could not force her away and as they had not had any typical 'mother and daughter' relationship for a long while that, whilst she could hope, it may be one that could never be mended. She wondered too if she had been a source of discussion with her elder brothers and if they shared their parent's opinions too.

"You have married him in a House of God and I will not have a divorce in this family. Your father and I believe that we will have to tolerate your decision now that you have forced us into this corner".

It was a veiled chink of light, she would like to think. She desperately wanted her mother to like her husband for what he was, not because he did not fulfil her mother's expectations of status. Chummy did not know what to say. Was 'thank you' appropriate? She decided upon a nod of the head and resultant silence.

"Are you going back to London or Madeira after the wedding?" Chummy asked, trying to make conversation.

"Are you hoping I will say Madeira?" her mother replied, her voice taking on that air of haughtiness that she had heard too many times too often.

"No, Mater".

"I will be in London for 3 days and then I am meeting your father in Dover and we are going to the South of France to visit the Hamiltons".

She remembered Elizabeth and Clementine Hamilton from her childhood and the journeys to Scotland to that house that smelt of furniture polish wherever you turned. To a young girl, the sisters were decrepit then so Lord knows how old they must be now.

"They are in the South of France?" she asked, her voice hesitating.

"Yes for the climate".

Chummy nodded, wondering how to reach across the chasm embedded between them. If it was her question or her mother's, the answers were nothing but short shrift, struggling to even let the most fundamentals of conversation flow between them.

To her relief however, as her mind worked to find a neutral subject, she heard feet crunching across the path, seeing Peter, Daniel, and two of Isobel's elderly aunts tottering behind them.

"Lady B!" Daniel announced as Chummy noticed her mother's smile at the fulsome greeting. "Would you do me the utmost honour of walking with me to the church?" One thing Chummy had always known about Daniel was that he could make the most insincere comment or greeting sound so unaffected and frank. It was however, only in jest and she could see the spark in his eyes.

She saw her mother walk with her usual elegant want down the remaining steps, holding out her hand delicately to Daniel. As her mother departed on Daniel's arm, Chummy took up the outstretched hand of her husband.

"Was she alright?" he asked, as they walked hand in hand down the path as their companions walked ahead.

"She gave with one hand and took with the other. I promise I will explain letter but it seems we have her begrudging approval".

It was one of those things that Peter would believe when he saw it. "So when are we getting our invitation for tea then?" he asked, knowing it would hopefully never come to pass.

"Ssshhh" she scolded quietly, suppressing a chuckle at his question.

"Mater said she saw Isobel. She looks beautiful apparently".

"She does" he replied as she suddenly stopped at his pronouncement.

"Admiring the scenery where you then?" she teased, walking on.

"No, the scenery right here is all I am looking at. When we were walking around the garden we saw her standing on the balcony". They passed the fountain as it trickled and behind them, further guests were beginning to leave the house.

"How did she look really?" she asked, wishing she had been able to see her this morning too, just to ensure Isobel knew that she had her utmost support.

"Resigned" he responded simply.


	23. Chapter 23

Mozart lilted and drifted as couples circled and spun around the immaculately decorated ballroom that was playing host to the reception. The speeches and toasts declared and the rather extensive menu consumed, the party had moved from the dining room to the vast space at the back of the house that overlooked what seemed to be endless gardens spreading down to the orchard and stables.

As she stood, at the side of the dance floor, Chummy found much pleasure in watching, seeing the enjoyment on everybody else's faces rather than the partaking.

Some moments earlier, she had not been remotely concerned when he had been approached by Caroline to be asked if she could borrow her husband to dance and to be frank she had almost pushed him into her arms. It would mean less chance of Chummy having to step on the dance floor herself as he was the only offer going.

"I see your husband has found himself a companion" Isobel said, sidling up to Chummy who had been watching the scene from her post by one of the decorative columns in the room. "He has two left feet" Chummy said bluntly as she saw Isobel smile. "Mind you, I have three so one doesn't think Carrie has very much to worry about".

There was a pause in the conversation as Chummy stared at the bubbles in her barely touched glass.

"You gave us a bit of a fright in the church there old girl". Peter had seen her gently pull his sleeve to reveal his watch as they sat side by side in the pew as the moments rolled past the hour.

"It's traditional for the bride to be late".

"I know, but after our conversations…"

Isobel shook her head. "I couldn't, Chummy. Not with all of this, not with all these people. I would lose mother, lose everything she has worked so hard for. Her friends would never talk to her again. The thought of what would happen if I didn't is too extreme to think of and I know how desperately weak it is of me".

"I think you are being quite strong Belle. Facing something like this".

"I suppose we all have strength in different ways", Isobel mused. "We may be happy. If I really work hard to be happy, I may just be"

Once she had finally made her way around to it, Chummy had found that her happiness had arrived somewhat naturally and she was entirely unsure that you could almost force yourself to be content with your lot.

"Did you find out where he is taking you on honeymoon?" Chummy asked.

"Paris, Milan and then Rome. We are leaving at 7 tomorrow morning. Where did Peter take you?"

"We chose Ramsgate". She deliberately said the words 'we chose' as they had. In a way. She had said the seaside and he had chosen his favourite childhood destination.

"I wish we were going to the seaside. You have not seen the dresses and jewellery I am having to take. I am going to secrete a pair of trousers in my suitcase!" Isobel whispered, knowing that it was not 'done'.

"Didn't his brother go to Italy years ago?" Chummy asked, having a vague recollection of being invited to, and thankfully being able to avoid due to her final pending nursing examination, his 'Farewell' party.

"Alexander and his wife will be travelling back with us and I will have to host a dinner party as soon as we get back to London. It's my first test of my abilities as a hostess. For a diplomat no less!" Chummy could not help but note the sarcasm in her last remark.

"One is choosing not to think about the whole bally thing until one has to and in the meantime I am going to have a drink or two!" Isobel said, spiriting two champagne flutes from a waiter who was conveniently passing.

"Are you joining me?"

Several hours later the first words he heard as he closed their bedroom door were _"Peter, can you?"_

He had seen her turn her back to him and he took it she wanted the zip undone on her dress. If she turned around now, although she could probably manage the zip quite well herself, she had indulged in far too much champagne than her body was used to and the grasp on his arm as they had ascended the stairs was tighter than usual. He didn't complain though.

"Of course", he replied, stepping over, leaving his tie half undone drawing the zip down her back as she held it over her chest to stop it falling to the floor. She felt a kiss between her shoulder blades.

"What was that for?" she asked, stepping out of the dress as he finished undoing his tie.

"Do I need a reason?"

"No, not really", she smiled, carefully folding her dress and sitting down at the dressing table, removing her earrings and bracelet; more jewellery she had borrowed from Isobel. She must give it back to her mother in the morning.

He came and sat next to her, straddling the small seat.

"What time do we have to leave in the morning?"

"As soon as possible. Sister Julienne has put me on the two o'clock clinic".

He nodded hearing a jewellery box click shut.

"Isobel looked like she was enjoying herself" he commented, having seen her spinning around the dance floor with every available male, including him on at least two occasions. He had however only seen her dance with her new husband once.

"She had too much champagne".

"So have you" he replied, seeing how relaxed and calm she looked.

She turned her head from the mirror with a nonchalant look. "One imagines I did", she said smiling at him.

He couldn't help but smile back remembering the last time, between them, they had indulged in far too much alcohol. It had been the third night of their honeymoon and they had found a cosy dining rooms tucked away off the main high street and where they had returned to their hotel and in a fit of something falling backwards onto the bed, his hand clamping quickly over her mouth to stop the laughter at suddenly finding herself horizontal and him trying to fight with the buttons on her dress. Neither had any memory of what transpired until she woke at three, and wrapped them in the candlewick bedspread to stave off the early winter cold.

"Are you just planning on sitting there?" she asked.

"Yes" he replied, taking up one of the earrings and examining it.

"Was it the right decision to come here then?" he asked. The simple drop diamond that was in his hand was probably worth as much as their flat and more.

"I know I was in two minds, but yes. I was pleased to see Isobel again and you and I have had a lovely weekend together when we have been on our own and…well, looking at Belle I can see now that everything Mater did made me what I am" she continued, turning slightly on the seat to face him.

"I am this person because of everything she did no matter how horrid I felt it was. Mater won't agree with by any means but she made me like this; made me into me" she concluded.

"And 'you' is the person I fell in love with. I should be grateful to her - it means I have my beautiful, resilient, kind, gentle, remarkable wife". Each adjective was punctuated with a kiss and it was one of those moments that she actually, truly believed she was worthy of the affection he showed and the trust he placed in her.

It had been an odd few days; transported into her old life, one she had left behind for the east end of London. It was a start to letting go of the past, a start – it seemed – to marginally better ground with her mother, even though he could never see that invitation to tea coming to pass.

They sat together as she unclipped her suspenders as his eyes closed slowly, now in the peace of their room with the noise of people and music rumbling downstairs .

"Are you going to keep in touch with Isobel?" he asked.

"Yes I think so", she paused, suddenly halting her employment . "Oh dear! One can be such a fool sometimes! I forgot to give her our telephone number!"

"Two days ahead of you Camilla. I did it on Friday". She looked at him.

"You are such a …" She couldn't think of the word as she saw his eyebrow raise.

"Do please go on" he replied, half expecting a good hearted insult for the presumption of going behind her back.

"Wonderful man".

"Well, I do try!" he replied, kissing her quickly on the cheek before he got up to continue to undress.

As she stood up, the room decided to spin for a moment and she took a discrete hold of the dressing table, hoping he did not notice. Alcohol was never particularly her friend and the occasional sips of gin and his whiskey she had had, did nothing for her tolerance and she was more than lethargic.

"So are you going to be joining me tonight?" he asked, muffled from the bathroom where he had wandered to.

He heard nothing, presuming she had not heard him above the noise of the ajar door and running water.

"Camilla?"

Walking back into the bedroom, drawing a flannel over his face, he noticed she was fast asleep. He smiled quickly before shaking his head.

"And I don't sleep neatly?!"


	24. Chapter 24

As he clicked the suitcase shut, the door behind him reopened.

"All finished?" he asked, turning to see her walk in.

"Yes. I rather enjoyed handing back that jewellery to Isobel's mother in an odd way" she replied, seeing his forehead crease.

"She was with Louisa and those two other…"she stopped the word 'witches' that was due to fall from her mouth as although she could only bear their company in the smallest of doses, it was still most impolite to be quite so disparaging even in the company of one's husband, who quite frankly, had heard far worse fall from her mouth.

Her heart had jumped in her chest, first seeing Isobel's mother – radiant almost like a new bride herself that was probably most in part to relief as to her now secure future – and those three, looking her up and down in a most derisory manner. She had dressed in trousers and a plain blouse, determined to be comfortable for the journey and it had not crossed her mind that her attire was inappropriate for these circles. For a moment she was expecting something disparaging about how very awful it must be to be so poor as to have to borrow jewellery too, but her shoulders straightened themselves high and involuntarily her feet had taken her towards them. She had smiled serenely and asked Isobel's mother to thank her for the use of the jewellery and waltzed out of the room with barely a glance back.

"I felt quite..." For a moment, Chummy struggled for the word, sitting down on the edge of a bed, watching him lift the suitcases to the floor.

"Strong?" he offered, seeing her smile and think for a moment.

"Oddly confident" she replied, being able to count on one hand how many times she had truly felt that she could stand tall in her mind let alone body. "Whatever they said, whatever look they had on their faces at me handing back jewellery, none of what they did would make me worry. I doubt I will ever see any one of them again anyway so one truly thinks it.." she paused. "_Doesn't matter_".

"Hopefully not" he replied, still having not told her of the encounter he had with them on that very first day.

"Being here has made one realise even more that I was right about this life. That life", she corrected herself. "I saw what I could have become and I am so very pleased that I have what I have now".

He sat down next to her, gently picking up her hand.

"I am so very pleased too". He kissed her on the cheek.

"Are we packed?" she asked, seeing the suitcases sitting next to each other on the floor.

"Yes" he replied. "All ready".

"Come on then, I saw the car ready for us downstairs".

"Oh, Camilla?" he said, as she went to get up. "Did you see your mother downstairs?"

"No. Why?" she asked, a frown drifting across her face.

"She knocked on the door just after you left. She wanted to say goodbye. I think", he added quickly.

"And did she?" she asked, not expecting an affirmative answer.

"Not to me".

He had heard a polite knock on the door and thinking it was perhaps the housekeeper to tell them the car was ready, he had not bothered with his tie or jacket, swinging to door open to find his mother in law standing there. It was almost as though a bomb had dropped; followed by that devastating silence that seemed to extend for far more than the handful of seconds that it took for her to ask where her daughter was. He had been on the receiving end of a look up and a look down and a look cross his mother in law's face that he could only describe as one of absolute, complete superiority. He ought to have not expected anything else.

When he had said she had gone to find Isobel's mother, albeit refraining from the reason, she had nodded curtly and announced she would try to find her downstairs. There was no 'goodbye' and he was largely sure that she did not even raise his name.

Having taken leave of the room, they were safely installed in the car, shuffled to one end; a hand wound in each other's, having learnt her mother had left not speaking to her daughter. He had seen a flash of something pass across her face that was quickly disguised with a plastered on smile that he felt she had had considerably more practice over the years than he. All he could do, when they were in the car, was to take her hand in his and silently tell her to keep hold of that strength they had so readily discussed upstairs. There would be more days for her mother to visit and more times she would look right through them both.

As they sat, she knew in that world that she could have once lived in, that sitting squashed side by side to someone– even if that person was your husband – was not 'done'. She, however simply did not care as in her mind she waved away the doubts she had packed into her suitcase with her back in Poplar and chose to sit so close to him you could not have slipped a piece of paper between them.

As the car exited the drive from the house, passing between the vast gates she looked back from the car window, seeing more cars pull away.

That was it; it was gone. All semblance of life, her existence in Poplar, whilst it did not entirely make sense to her was now starting to slot the pieces together. These were things that she thought she would never have - a job she loved, a house, a husband she adored - and it still felt all so very odd. She knew what she did not want and that was that life, that person she could have become if she had fallen into the ways and desires of her mother.

As the countryside rolled into the worn East End, seeing those derelict buildings and hustle and bustle resume around her again, there was something so suddenly peaceful about it. It was a tranquillity that built inside her as the miles rolled away; almost like shedding a skin as it peeled away from her.

She did not notice the hand that took hers again until he squeezed her fingers to catch her attention.

"Glad to be home?" he asked, receiving a smile.

_"__Completely"_

FIN


End file.
